


Pink or Blue?

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Heart Break Beat and From Almaty with Love Cross Over, M/M, Otabek bangs two Yuris, PWP, Poly Relationship, Rimming, Self-cest, Snow balling, Spitroasting, Two Otabeks bang a very happy Yuri, Two Yuris bang a very happy Otabek, Yuri gets dickmatized by two Otabeks, crack fick, negotiating a poly relationship with yourself your boyfriend yourself and your boyfriend, or from almaty with love, pov switching, the shittiest explanation of multiverses you will ever see, to enjoy this pwp, you don't have to read heart break beat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10278602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: His Yuri pulls off his cock with a hard suck and a sharp pop. Instantaneously his Yuri is back on other Yuri and kissing him deeply. The kiss is sloppy. Thick milky white liquid spills out of the corners of their joined mouths. His come slides between their pink and blue pained lips. Their tongues are coated with it. They pant and moan against one another, and it’s enough to tug Otabek back to attention almost instantly.  The two of them argue over and savor his come like it’s something sacred.OR: A very happy and very smitten Otabek fucks two Yuris.





	1. Pink or Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voslen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voslen/gifts), [Eighth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eighth/gifts), [DoodleLeeDoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodleLeeDoo/gifts).



> Well, the fandom has hit critical mass. It's time for doppelganger fucking. 
> 
> His Yuri, Yuri, blue lipstick Yuri = FAWL/Cannon Yuri
> 
> Other Yuri, pink lipstick Yuri = Heart Break Beat Yuri
> 
> If you haven't read Heart Break Beat, no worries. Yuri is just a little bit more rough around the edges, and also gender fluid.

“Ah fuck. Ah fuck no. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Not again.” Yuri scrambles for his purse and digs through it until he procures a chipped flip phone. He whips it open and then immediately snaps it back shut. “I fucking told Otabek this was going to fucking happen if I changed purses. Oh my fucking god.”

Yuri rubs his temples. From his oversized coach bag...Okay, from his oversized knockoff coach bag purchased from Kimie at the fleamarket, he extracts a pack of menthol Mistys. By the grace of god up above he found this crumpled pack in the glove compartment of the busted ass Buick that morning, and didn’t have the money to care how old they actually were. “So, where the fuck am I?”

Yuri takes in his surroundings. There’s a large unmade bed which barely fits into the tiny bedroom. A small potted plant rests in the windowsill. Whomever owns the place needs to open the goddamn window and let it get some sun. To the left of the window, rests a small desk that’s littered with books.

Yuri walks over to the desk and lights up his cigarette. There are a couple of titles there that he knows he’s seen before, _Catch-22, All Quiet on the Western Front, Into Thin Air_. It’s the kind of manly shit that Otabek reads in order to reconcile the fact that he’s going to school to be a goddamn librarian. “Otabek would like whoever this chump is.”

“I’m not sure, it does smell like something is burning though.”

Yuri can hear a voice in the other room, and fuck. He forgot that the worst part of all of this was always dealing with other people. The voice was soft, but masculine. Firm, but unassuming. It sounded quite familiar.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Yuri mumbles. The whole time he keeps the Misty perfectly balanced on his lower lip.

Otabek crosses the threshold. Well... _An_ Otabek. This one doesn’t have the purple red rings under his eyes that indicate just how tired he really is. This one wears really nice, brand new athletic gear from his head to his toes.  “Fuck.” Cause it pulls at his heartstrings in a certain kind of way to know that there’s an Otabek out there that might be fucking loaded.

Otabek squints his eyes and purses his lips at the sight of Yuri. Then, as if he cannot fully grasp the sight before him, he shoots a wayward glance back into the hallway. Then, back at Yuri. Otabek opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it once more.

Yuri ashes into the potted plant. Who gives a shit about tact when you’re staring down an alternative universe version of your goddamn soulmate?

“Can you put that out?” Otabek asks. His voice is strained, as if he legitimately doesn’t want to annoy Yuri. Maybe they don’t know each other here? Wherever _here_ happens to be. “It’s disgusting.”

“Yeah,” Yuri takes a long drag, and then shoves the butt down into the potted plant.

“Yuri,” Otabek calls into the hallway. “Come here. You are not going to believe this.”

* * *

“Oh-fucking kay,” Yuri paces back and forth and back and forth between the high counter that peeks into the kitchen and the book shelf that’s butted up against the living room wall. “First of all Otabek, how can you be so fucking calm about this? Your home is fucking broken into, and it just so happens to be another version of me. Or someone _very creepily_ like me.” Yuri rakes his nails across his scalp in exasperation. “It’s so fucked up.”

“I like you.” Otabek supplies. “Despite your differences, he does seem to be you.” Otabek supplies in an equally exasperated tone. “So, he’s okay.”

“Oh, my god.” Yuri rubs his his hand down his face so hard that it exaggerates his features. “Can you walk me through this one more time?”

“Yeah,” the other Yuri sighs. “Do you have anything to eat? I was literally walking down to the chicken shack on the end of the block to get me and Beka some extra crispy legs and thighs when this bullshit happened.” Other Yuri pulls a cigarette out of his purse with a shaky hand and lights up again despite the fact that Otabek told him not to. Fried chicken? Cigarettes? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?  “He’s gonna be so disappointed when I don’t show up,” he says wistfully.

Wordlessly, Otabek moves toward the kitchen.

“A drink too. Not tea. Like an actual fucking drink.” Other Yuri waves his cigarette at the lipstick stained teacup on the glass coffee table.

“Wait, you have an Otabek?” Yuri asks.

“Course I do,” Other Yuri responds between puffs. “And I’d be so fucking lost without ‘m.”

Yuri notices the far away look in this other Yuri’s eyes. He wonders if he ever looks that wide eyed and  stupid when he thinks about Otabek. He wonders if he’ll get those tiny little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. Hopefully not. He’s not a walking goddamn cigarette like this other version of himself.

Otabek returns from the kitchen with a sandwich made from the crusty bread they’d picked up from the market, alongside pieces of fruit and tabbouleh salad left over from their own lunch.  He’s also got an open bottle of wine, one that Victor and Yuuri had given them as a New Year's gift, and neither of them really knew what to do with.

“Thanks babe.” Yuri snuffs out his cigarette and daintily picks up the sandwich between his long white nails. “This tomato is green?”

“Heirloom tomatoes. Like,” Otabek pauses and tries to explain. It’s funny in a trainwreck kind of way. Watching Otabek try to explain decent produce to this washed up version of himself.

“Supposed to be that way?” Other Yuri asks when Otabek’s poetic waxing about different types of tomatoes fails.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” Yuri takes a small delicate bite of the sandwich, and then chews wolfishly, swallows almost immediately. “So like I said. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Beka and I live underneath some really low fucking power lines. We’ve called the utility company and bitched, but you know our bill isn’t current. So, we called the city and bitched, but we also haven’t paid property taxes in awhile. So they don’t give a fuck.”

Yuri eyes the open bottle of wine. At this rate, he’s going to have to arm wrestle this other version of himself for a fucking clean glass because he needs a goddamn drink too.

“Anyway you know in spring sometimes? How the leaves on the trees blow backwards, and the temperature drops, and it gets real cool? Everything’s real static-y and then lightening starts to crack off in the distance?”

Otabek nods.

“Right, so it’s happened before where I just kind of...zap?” Yuri waves his sandwich around for emphasis. “Like, it’s happened before. One time I ended up in a universe where Victor and Yuuri, you know them?”

“Know them? I fucking regret the day I ever-”

Other Yuri waves his hand as if to dismiss the rant that looms on the horizon. “They were crunchy granola lesbians who owned an organic farm. It was too fucking much. I almost vomited all over their GMO free squash plants. Or whatever. Victor was so fucking pregnant, and they wouldn’t tell me who knocked him? Her? Up? I hated that one.”

Yuri cannot believe what he’s hearing. Another version of himself is explaining multiple universes to him and Otabek on a Saturday afternoon when they should be out in the park training. There’s got to be a mother fucking gas leak.

“One time,” Yuri pauses to pour himself a glass of wine, “Oh, this looks nice.”

“Viktor and Yuuri got it for us for New Year's,” Otabek supplies. “They’re married here. And um. Men,” Otabek supplies. The fact that he’s even being polite to this asshole kind of rubs him the wrong way. Like he’s halfway to whipped by this stranger just because he looks like him, and talks like him, and just so happens to be named Yuri Plisetsky.

“Fancy,” Yuri says with a low whistle. “Anyway, one time I was in a universe where JJ was a model train enthusiast. But like, the best model train enthusiast. He had this fucking train that was supposed to be the best or whatever. The JJ express. I don’t fucking know.” Yuri drains the glass.

“No fucking way,” Yuri snorts. The mental image of JJ with a little felt conductors hat almost kills him.

“ Way. I ended up in a clean white void of nothingness for I don’t know how long. Found enlightenment, the meaning of the universe, everything. Made sure to drink it all away when I got back.” Other Yuri pours himself more wine. This time, he slips it slowly.

“Otabek found a way to stop it. He lined my bag with tinfoil, and for the most part it’s stopped. It’s never happened to him. After it happened to me, he started keeping a ball of tinfoil in his jacket pocket. I think that it always happens to me because I’m a good fucking housewife. It’s always, “Baby you just sit down. I’ll go get some fucking chicken. Beka, I’ll go get more beer.” Or you know, I’m sneaking off to the corner store for scratchers.”

Yuri doesn’t know. Judging by the confused look on Otabek’s face, neither does he.  

“You were walking to the store, in those?” Otabek gestures to the impossibly tall stiletto heels that other Yuri’s wearing. They’re a soft pink color that almost matches with the coral of his skirt, but not really. “Yeah, I blew the fucking radiator out of the Buick the other day. I know that I need to add water but,” Yuri waves his hand around. “I was stuck in traffic, and then boom.” As if reminded that his feet were crammed into the shoes, he toes them off and lets his stocking clad feet glide across the carpet.

“This is the first time I’ve experienced myself. Or another Otabek for that matter. I guess it’s cause I got this new bag at the fleamarket.” Yuri gestures to the shitty looking bag with uneven stitching. It’s an atrocity. “Forgot to line it with foil. I need to though before the next time I go to Macy's. Let me tell you,” Yuri says with his mouth full of fruit. “Linens, makeup, costume jewelry...They do not give a fuck, even if you set off the alarm. They will not chase you down in the parking lot or anything.”

“Oh, great,” Yuri stops pacing for a moment and looks at himself seated across from Otabek on the couch. “I’m a fucking criminal too. Fantastic.”

“Yeah, and I’m a little bitch apparently,” other Yuri smirks. “So besides each other,” he wants to smack the shit out of other Yuri whose smirk is wide and toothy. "What do the two of you do?" 

* * *

“Wow, you guys are so fucking talented. I can’t believe it really.” Other Yuri’s eyes are glassy. Like he’s about to start tearing up.

Over the last three hours, they’ve shown him their skating programs from this year, and last year, and the year before that. Every little scrap they can find on YouTube or on their hard drives. Otabek shows him his medal from Pyeongchang. Yuri doesn’t have his here, so pictures will suffice.  

“World champion, Olympic medalist. Both of you. It’s fucking crazy,” Yuri says. “All I do is gamble,” he laughs. “Oh, and I’m a bad influence on Beka too.”

Other Yuri sits between them on the sofa. He’s slowed down his drinking. He’ll go outside on the balcony to smoke since they asked. He told them about his mom, and about Grandpa, and about hustling, and never having any goddamn money.

Yuri would never tell him this, because he knows that he wouldn’t want to be pitied. Especially not by an alternate version of himself. But maybe this other Yuri isn’t so much of a twat after all, even when he considers the gambling, and the criminal activity, and the smoking.

“I am sorry you had to go through all of that,” other Yuri says finally. “With your mom and dad.” Yuri thinks that particular choice of wording is strange. His parents and other Yuri’s parents _sound_ similar enough. Although his mom sounds nicer than other Yuri’s.

Other Yuri tucks his hair behind his ears and smooths out the locks. The touch is feather light and impossibly gentle. “It’s good that you have him though isn’t it?” Other Yuri’s gaze darts to Otabek, and then back to him.

It’s absolutely unnerving, staring down this other version of himself. He could get lost looking into those bottle glass green eyes, if it weren’t so uncanny. The near, but not exact copy of himself shakes him to his core, even if Yuri finds him a bit more agreeable now.

Other Yuri cups his face. The scratch of his nails tickles against his skin. “He makes it all worth it.”

“Yeah,” Yuri says in a shaky exhale. When he pulls away from other Yuri, he sneaks a furtive glance at Otabek. Otabek sits stock still on the opposite end of the couch. He’s doing that thing where he’s desperately trying hard not to stare, so he’s burning holes in the coffee table with his laser gun gaze.

His face is flushed and his cheeks are tinged pink.

* * *

Yuri and Yuri make dinner. Otabek sits up on the counter and watches them move in rapt fascination. This other Yuri is coated in makeup and cheap costume jewelry and smells like an ashtray, but moves just as gracefully as his Yuri. He sees it in the way that he balances on the high heeled shoes. He sees it in the dainty movements of his hands.

Together, their movements are embarrassingly clumsy. They bump into one another constantly. His Yuri will bump hips with other Yuri. Other Yuri will walk up to the counter too quickly behind his Yuri and bump into him with a soft, “Oh sorry babe,” before touching his shoulders lightly.

It's strange and delightful the way they move harmoniously in tandem for minutes at a time, and then collide awkwardly in a tangle of swears and blonde hair and graceful long limbs.

“So let me get this straight,” Other Yuri says with a shit eating grin after they’ve prepared dinner: chicken and mushrooms with white wine sauce. Yuri and Yuri’s portion on plates, and his stuffed awkwardly into a bowl. “Versace, Versace, I don’t know, but fucking expensive,” he points at his Yuri’s pants, sweatshirt, and the necklace Otabek bought him for his birthday.

“What is this?” Other Yuri ducks behind him, bends down,  and checks the tag on his sweat suit. “Burberry. Wow.” The hot burst of breath on the back of his neck makes the hair on the back of his neck raise, makes the skin there pebble with goose flesh. “But two fucking plates?”

“That’s Otabek’s fucking weird ass problem,” Yuri supplies.

“I guess somethings stay the same,” other Yuri responds.

Otabek lets his Yuri and other Yuri sit on the couch while they eat. He sits on the floor opposite them. He tries his hardest not to stare. It’s difficult through. The  icy attitude that his Yuri has melts, and the tired, and exasperated tone of the other Yuri softens. In no time at all, they begin to sound as if they were old friends.

Otabek doesn’t speak much during dinner. He simply drifts in and out of bits of conversation, much like he does when Yuri becomes passionate about a particular line of conversation and does not let go.

“I like your makeup.”

“You should let me have some hand me downs.”

“Does he? Does he do that thing where he just rocks on his feet because he’s nervous? Mine does that.”

“Oh my god yes.” and Yuri slaps Yuri’s arm like they hadn’t been calling each other, “asshole,” moments before.  

* * *

“Beka,” Yuri half hisses and half whispers in the kitchen when they both move to clear the dishes away after dinner. “You like me.”

“Um,” Otabek supplies numbly. He’s not really sure where this is going. “Yes?”

“No, I mean…” Yuri’s expression sours in frustration. “You like _other_ me. You keep staring.”

Otabek frowns. He does find himself watching other Yuri’s graceful movements. He’d very much like to run his fingers through the other Yuri’s long blonde hair. He does find himself getting lost in those bright green eyes. He’s fascinated by the sheer volume of makeup he’s wearing. Other Yuri still manages to look good in his own unique way. But, there isn’t a single thing that he enjoys about this other Yuri that he didn’t fall in love with in his Yuri first.

“So you do like that old hag.”

“He’s literally,” Otabek pauses to piece together little bits of information that other Yuri has given them. “Two years older than you?”

“So you do like that fucking cougar!” Yuri’s voice raises in an exaggerated whisper. His expression is wide eyed and awkward. “Fucking great,” Yuri hisses.

 

* * *

 

“So, since you don’t smoke, and you don’t drink, and you don’t gamble, what do you kids do for fun around here?” Other Yuri asks as he comes back in off the balcony. The heels are removed once more, and other Yuri returns to his spot between them on the couch.

  
“Well we were going to go for a run before you fucking showed up,” Yuri says with a hint of rancor in his voice.

  
“Gross,” other Yuri responds.

  
“Yeah, seeing you hack up a lung would be pretty fucking gross.”

  
“So you’re rich, famous, and boring?” Other Yuri scoffs. “How awful.”

  
“Well we fuck a lot when we don’t have uninvited guests,” his Yuri growls. “You caught onto that yourself.”

  
Otabek snaps his book shut in shock. He feels his eyebrows threaten to migrate into his hairline.

  
His Yuri locks eyes with Otabek. He gets that devilish look on his face. The one that says, “Oh just you fucking wait, Altin.” It’s the look that terrifies him; it’s the look that intoxicates him.

  
“You know what would really piss him off?” His Yuri leans into other Yuri’s space and talks into other Yuri’s ear too loudly to be a whisper. It makes the hair stand up on the back of Otabek’s neck.

  
“What?” Other Yuri asks. His tone softens, as if the opportunity to harass Otabek is just the kind of cure he needs for his boredom.

  
His Yuri whispers into other Yuri’s ear. This time it’s an actual whisper, one that he can’t hear.

  
“Oh, that really would,” other Yuri says in response. “He’s been eye fucking me all day.” His Yuri leans in, but the other Yuri interrupts. “Wait!” From his purse he extracts a tube of frost blue lipstick. Slowly he unwinds the tube and dabs it onto his Yuri’s lips. “I’m so good in this universe. So smart. So good at picking on Beka.” Other Yuri purses his lips together and smacks them with a loud pop. “You look so pretty. Do that.”

  
His Yuri complies. The smack of his mouth makes Otabek’s mouth go dry. The other Yuri reaches back into his giant purse and procures a tube of bright pink lipstick and applies it to his own lips. “Alright, c’mere snow queen.”

  
His Yuri growls, low and possessive “I’ll show you who’s a fucking queen.” His Yuri leans forward, and crushes his blue lips to cotton candy pink. Other Yuri moans into the kiss almost immediately. He shifts against his Yuri and threads his fingers into Yuri’s hair.

  
One time, when Otabek was quite young, he stuck his finger into an exposed outlet. It made his skin burn and his brain feel like a snow globe that had been shaken. He feels the same way right now watching Yuri kiss himself. There’s twin twists in his gut. One of jealousy, how dare anyone touch Yuri. Yuri who has only ever kissed him and only ever come for him. There’s another, one of possession. One that knows that the Yuri with a tacky knockoff designer bag and pink lipstick belongs to another version of Otabek. He feels a strange sense of pride and possessiveness over this Yuri too, as if he belongs to him by extension. He truly believes that this Yuri to some extent is his to tease, and to touch, and to edge until he’s begging to come.

  
Otabek can see that the kiss has deepened. His Yuri is all but seated in other Yuri’s lap. They pull away for a moment, and look at each other with heavy half lidded gazes. Otabek can see the thin sheen of saliva between them. Then, just as suddenly as they parted, other Yuri presses his pink mouth back to Yuri’s blue.  
His Yuri yelps and pulls back. He touches at his red and kissed bruised lips. “You bit me…You like it rough?”

  
Other Yuri nods.

  
“Alright then,” His Yuri darts forward, goes for Other Yuri’s neck and leaves frost blue kiss bites down Yuri’s neck.

  
“Like what you see?” Other Yuri’s gaze meets his own, and for the first time Otabek is paid attention to.

  
“Yeah,” he breathes.

  
“You know what would be really fun?” Other Yuri taps at his Yuri’s chin and draws him close. “Come here babe.” He whispers in his ear again. Seeing this other Yuri call his Yuri babe, well it affects him, deeply. The two syllables and the soft cupping of his Yuri’s chin do more than watching their sugar frosted lips mash against one another. It makes his Burberry sweat pants tight; it makes him wonder if other Yuri will slide them off slow, or tear them off the way his Yuri does.

  
His Yuri’s eyes go wide. “Beka.”

  
“Can we do that? Are you okay with that?” Other asks while playing with the ends of Yuri’s hair.

  
“We want to suck your cock,” his Yuri announces.

  
Otabek can feel Yuri’s heavy lust filled gaze on him in duplicate.

  
“Which one do you want?”

  
“Pink or blue?” Otabek loses track of which Yuri is where, and which Yuri says exactly what. There’s hands at his pants, and a hot mouth on his neck.

  
“Both.”

  
“That’s what we like to hear.”

  
Both Yuri’s sink to their knees on the floor. Otabek stays seated on the sofa.

  
His Yuri pulls a hair tie from his wrist and ties his hair up into a messy bun. Other Yuri simply instructs him to sit with his legs spread wider. Their mouthes are sticky from the lipstick. They kiss and mouth and lap at the sides of his cock, never quite allowing the other to take him in completely. In their wake they leave a trail of pink and blue down his cock that shimmers in the light.

  
Otabek doesn’t dare taking his eyes of the scene before him for a moment. The pair of them seem hell bent on extracting every moan and every grunt, and every soft utterance of fuck and god and Yuri they get from him.

Then, just when it looks like his Yuri is going to take the head of his cock into his mouth, he pulls Other Yuri in for a kiss. It’s long and deep and hungry. Otabek can see their tongues between move between pink and blue lips.

Otabek can’t help himself. He grabs himself at the base of his cock and strokes, and strokes, and strokes.

“Beka,” Other Yuri chides when they part with a loud smack. He moves underneath Otabek, and licks the sensitive underside of his head and teases at the tip. “Are we not enough for you?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the death of me.” Otabek runs his hands through fine gold spun hair. Otabek kisses tacky lipstick colored lips in pink and in blue. Otabek watches helplessly as his Yuri and other Yuri take turns letting his cock disappear inch by inch down their throats, but never falling into a steady rhythm of longer than a few thrusts.

They push him to the edge immediately, and keep him there. “Who gets his come?”

“Well I should. I’ve never had it before.”

Twin hands slide up and down his cock while they argue. One is impossibly soft, the other has long nails that catch and send electric shivers down the base of his spine.

“That’s a fucking lie.”

“Why am I such a greedy little fuck?”

Back and forth and back and forth, the hands and the arguing make his head spin.

At some point blue lips wrap around his cock and his Yuri is taking him in as far as he can and jerking him off with a tight fist. Otabek comes in seconds with a mangled cry of, “Yuri,” because if his whole world and his whole everything was Yuri before, it was doubly so now.

His Yuri pulls off his cock with a hard suck and a sharp pop. Instantaneously his Yuri is back on other Yuri and kissing him deeply. The kiss is sloppy. Thick milky white liquid spills out of the corners of their joined mouths. His come slides between their pink and blue pained lips. Their tongues are coated with it. They pant and moan against one another, and it’s enough to tug Otabek back to attention almost instantly.

He knows that Yuri loves him, and he knows that other Yuri loves another version of him, but the two of them argue over and savor his come like it’s something sacred.

“Don’t tell mine this but,” other Yuri wipes the corners of his mouth delicately with his middle finger. “Your come tastes better,” he says staring at Otabek and not so much as blinking.

“Really?” His Yuri preens, like the compliment was for him and not for Otabek. “Hear that?” He leans up into Otabek and gives him a peck on the mouth. “Mine’s better.”

“I didn’t say that,” other Yuri insists with a gruff tone.

“So, what are you going to do for us Beka? Since we made you feel so good?” His Yuri purrs and grinds against his leg as if to remind him that neither of them have come yet.

“Bed,” Otabek growls. “Now,”

“Oh,” Other Yuri giggles. “I’ve never fucked on a king sized bed before.”

His Yuri tugs at the hem of his sweat shirt.

“Stop.” Otabek orders. He peels the rest of his clothes away, and then moves to his Yuri. He’s not missing out on this opportunity. “Let me. Both of you.”

Otabek peels away his Yuri’s sweater. Then, he removes his sweatpants, and then finally his tiger print underwear are stripped away. Otabek makes sure to kiss and to suck his favorite places on Yuri’s body: sharp collar bones, flat stomach, and hip bones. He takes his Yuri in his hand and gives him a few pumps. “Yuri,” He roughly grabs his Yuri’s ass. “Find the lube.”

“Yes Beka,” Yuri purrs.

Otabek moves onto other Yuri. They kiss for the first time. Other Yuri’s kiss is softer and more subdued than his abrasive demeanor. His movements against Otabek are deliberate, as if he wants to memorize everything about him.

With shaky hands Otabek moves to unbutton the faux pearl buttons of Yuri’s cream colored cardigan.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Altin,” he chuckles. “Just,” and he peels it over his head. It doesn’t do much good. He’s wearing an off white lacy top underneath. It makes his mouth go dry once more. It’s amazing, how Yuri no matter in what form or what universe is the only thing that stokes the fire and quenches the unimaginable thirst within him.

Otabek carefully removes the lace shirt. Then, he turns Yuri around and unzips the long coral colored skirt. Otabek considers for a moment using his mouth and his teeth to leave a small purple mark on this Yuri, so that another version of himself could find it.

So he does.

“Oh,” other Yuri moans into his shoulder. “He is not gonna like that.”

Otabek toys with other Yuri’s nipples until they’re puffy and overstimulated. Kneads the firm flesh of his ass and nips between his thighs.

“He’s gonna fuck me so hard when he sees that. When he knows that it’s you.”

“He’ll be okay with it right?” His Yuri asks with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Look,” Other Yuri’s tone becomes serious. “First of all don’t fucking stop,” he taps on the crown of Otabek’s head and pushes him downward. “Second of all, once you go out for smokes and come back with grainy cell phone photos of another dimension, you become a lot more open to, Ah,” Otabek’s got other Yuri’s leg raised up over his shoulder as he kneels. He’s left several cherry red bite marks along the inside of his thigh, and laps at his sac and his perineum. “All sorts of things.” Otabek can’t see but he can hear the smile and the smirk in other Yuri’s voice.

“Otabek,” his Yuri growls. “I’m getting fucking jealous of myself. Come the fuck on.”

“Sorry,” Otabek isn’t sorry. He wants to eat this Yuri’s ass until he’s wet and he’s dripping. He just might if he’s smart enough and fast enough to satiate his Yuri at the same time. “He’s just,” Otabek rises from his kneeling position and buries his hands in other Yuri’s hair. “So pretty.” Where his Yuri is tight compact muscle, this Yuri is smooth and soft. Where his Yuri is unconventionally masculine, this Yuri is unapologetically feminine.

Otabek understands that he’s been given a gift, and he has to make the most of it. “Okay, both of you lay down. Legs up.”

But they’re already way ahead of him. They’re on their backs on the mattress. Hands skim chests, and stomachs. Long elegant fingers twist at nipples and graze at purple red overstimulated cocks. Yuri’s pink mouth meets with Yuri’s silver blue mouth. They’re almost kissed bare but the faint blush of color remains on their lips.

Otabek would feel jealous, if it weren’t so beautiful.

“What are you going to do to us Beka?”

“Finger you,” Otabek wets his lips with his tounge. “Fuck you.” He’d wanted to say something more substantial, but Yuri’s voice is like liquid velvet. He isn’t in control, hasn’t been in control since the two of them decided that they liked each other.

“I want his come this time,” other Yuri speaks rapidly.

Otabek simply grabs the lube from his Yuri and liberally applies it to both of them, eager and waiting. He hooks into his Yuri with his thumb first, and splays his palm so that he can rub at his perineum. He mirrors the action with other Yuri.

For a moment all he can do is look at his hands splayed wide across both Yuri’s, needy and waiting. All he can do is listen to the chorus of low pitched moans, and love every harsh and jagged breath they take.

Yuri often makes fun of him when he’s overwhelmed and overstimulated and doesn’t quite know what to do. He’d like to believe that right now it serves him well. He hasn’t heard any complaints from either Yuri.

He teases them wide with his fingers and watches them twitch. He pulls out and listens to them moan in protest when they’re both empty. He plays with their cocks to make up for it. Then he goes back to their holes, wet and hungry.

He loves fingering his Yuri. The tight hot clench of Yuri around his fingers sets a fire low in his stomach and makes him think about just how he’s going to fuck Yuri. He can go slow and tease, push and then pull all the way out before he slams back in. He can go fast and go hard, because he always does such a good job of working Yuri open that it’s never a problem.

Now that tight hot feeling around both of his fingers is overwhelming. He can move his fingers in rhythm within both of them well enough, but the question of what to do next is all consuming. He wants to fuck his Yuri first, because he’s in love with this Yuri. He’s devoted to him completely. He wants to fuck other Yuri, because he’s shown him such a rare and beautiful side of Yuri.

“Beka,” his Yuri says in a slurred drawl. “I know you wanna eat him out.”

“Ah,” just then other Yuri’s eyes screw shut and he cants his hips up just right against his fingers “Otabek.”

“That’s why you practically had your face in his ass earlier. Eat him and fuck him. It’s okay.” His Yuri sounds half drunk, but so sincere.

“Yuri,” Otabek withdraws his fingers and moves up the bed to kiss his Yuri. He feels drunk, drunk with permission to touch, and to tease, and to gorge himself on Yuri. “Yuri,” and he laps at other Yuri’s open mouth too before moving back down the bed and throwing other Yuri’s legs over his shoulders.

“Ah, he’s so good at this,” Other Yuri pants.

Other Yuri is stretched wide, and wet, and so sinfully sloppy, just for him. If he wasn’t expected to perform, to satisfy, to have both Yuri’s on his cock before all of this was said and done, he’d want nothing more than to simply taste Yuri and touch himself.

“I know. Now stop fucking talking.” There’s the muffled sound of moans against mouths and the gentle soft sound of lips against lips. “Touch my dick.”

“You mean my dick?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Otabek nibbles lightly at other Yuri’s rim. Let’s his tongue plunge inside over and over and over again until until other Yuri’s tugging at his hair, “Beka, he needs you.”

Otabek sits up and looks at his Yuri. His eyes are screwed shut. His frost blue painted lips are pulled tight. Other Yuri’s long fingers are pinched tight around the base of his cock preventing him from coming.

“This fucking asshole,” his Yuri whines, presumably from the pressure and the want and the need.

“You want him baby,” Other Yuri purrs into his ear.

Otabek moves over and thrusts in. He bats other Yuri’s hand away from his Yuri’s cock.

“Beka,” twin voices that are gruff and blissful moan in unison.

Otabek tries to move with the hard steady thrusts that he knows that his Yuri likes. Otabek watches his hand, and other Yuri’s perfectly manicured french tips slide up and down his Yuri’s cock. As he feels Yuri tense, and sees his eyes roll back in his head, and fist against the sheets and move against other Yuri, Otabek feels greedy. He only hopes that he has enough energy for both.

His Yuri comes onto their hands with shout, “god damn, Beka fuck.”

Immediately other Yuri is pulling him over to his side of the bed. Those perfect French tips are wrapped around the base of his cock and guiding him in. “My turn.”

“Yuri,” Otabek grabs him up underneath the armpits and pulls him deeper onto his cock. Other Yuri wraps his legs around him and pulls him even closer still. It’s absolutely amazing how someone can feel so intimate and so familiar and be so different. His Yuri is tight. His Yuri is a constant challenge not to come too soon. This Yuri is silk and velvet and the sting of long nails raking down his back.

Otabek wonders if he’ll see them when he looks in the mirror. Otabek wonders if his Yuri will glare at them when all of this is said and done.

“Kiss me baby,” Otabek leans forward, only to be blocked by his Yuri. Other Yuri does seem to be settled on the pet name for his Yuri: baby, and babe. It spills out of his mouth liquid smooth, and makes Otabek melt.

“Yuri,” Otabek can feel his thrusts become erratic. Can feel other Yuri tighten around him. Feels the image of Yuri kissing Yuri branded onto his retinas. Prays that for as long as he lives and breathes he never forgets this moment. “Yuri please.” Otabek begs.

He’s not going to last, he can feel it building and building and building deep within. His Yuri moves away from other Yuri’s mouth, as if to silently say, “kiss him Beka,” and so Otabek does. The kiss is open mouthed, and ever so sloppy.

“Yura,” Otabek sobs, and just like that, Yuri is tightening around him and coming into his hand. Then Otabek comes too. He comes deep inside this other Yuri that has a sticky mouth, and long French tips, and smells like smoke, and in his own way, is a gift.

“I love you,” Otabek pulls out and is pushed back onto the bed by long thin hands that hold so much hidden strength. “I love you so much.” Otabek is washed clean with a damp rag. “I love you,” there are soft kisses at his temple, and his kiss bruised mouth, and at his chest, often at the same time. “I love you.” Otabek reaches for velvet skin, and golden hair, and repeats it over and over again, because it’s true.

 

* * *

 

“Wait, so you knew how to get back home this whole time?” Yuri asks while watching other Yuri scarf down a piece cake and wash it down with a glass of almond milk. “And where the fuck are you putting all of this? All you’ve fucking done is eat.”

“I’m hungry,” the other version of himself says in an annoyed tone. “I went out to get dinner and ended up here you know.”

“Yeah, and then we fed you lunch and dinner, and then you put away a whole fucking box of crackers while we were telling you about skating and shit.”

“Whatever,” Yuri wipes pink angel food cake crumbs from Yuri’s Adidas track suit. His purse is stuffed to the brim with designer shit from Yuri’s suitcase, because why the fuck not? “I’ve never been with anyone other than my Otabek. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.”

“By sleeping with your boyfriend,” Otabek says in a dull tone that does little to convey how thoroughly confused he is after the air has cleared and their clothes are back on.

“Yeah,” other Yuri beams. He flashes a wide and panicked smile, it’s one that Yuri knows well. One that he uses when he’s slightly uncomfortable, very out of my element. “I love you,” he leans back into Otabek’s space and touches their lips together briefly.

“Okay, I should get going. Otabek probably doesn’t know if I’m dead in a gutter, or in another dimension again.”  Yuri balls up a piece of aluminum foil and chucks it in the microwave.

“Wait you keep tin foil in your bag to keep this from happening,” Yuri barks. “But then you use tin foil to induce the effect?”

“I’m so smart,” other Yuri chirps. “I don’t know I dropped out of high school. I do know that we should have a photo. Beka’s not going to fucking believe this.”

They take an awkward photo with other Yuri’s flip phone. Then, they sneak a selfie with Yuri’s phone. “Hey, how do you know you’ll get to the right place.”

“I don’t,” other Yuri says with another forced grin. “Sometimes it takes a few tries. Oh before I forget,” he reaches into his bag and digs through all the clothing that Yuri gave him. “Here, it looks better on you,” he palms Yuri the tube of frost blue lipstick.

“Handsome.” He kisses Otabek on the mouth. “Pretty.” He kisses Yuri on the mouth. “And don’t fucking speak a word of this to anyone.”

Otabek and his Yuri nod in unison.

Yuri taps a few buttons on the microwave. Most of the kitchen is enveloped in an electric blue glow. It sends Yuri and Otabek scrambling out the kitchen lest they end up in the same strange and dirty place that other Yuri comes from.

* * *

 

They spend the rest of the night sitting quietly together, reading and touching softly as if nothing had happened at all.

Yuri showers, and puts on one of Otabek’s bright teal team shirts. He applies a fresh coat of frost blue lipstick. “So Beka, which one did you like best? Pink, or blue?”

 


	2. Leather or Suede?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek, his otabek, leather otabek = FAWL/Cannonish Otabek
> 
> Other Otabek, suede otabek = Heart Break Beat Otabek 
> 
> First sex position: http://sexpositions.club/positions/58.html before they fall into a standard m/m/m spit roast

“I think part of the reason they’re so boring is because like, that’s their whole lives. They just compete, and cook food, and fuck.” Yuri pulls a Misty out of his bag and lights it up. “Are you gonna take the shot or not?”

“I’m working on it.” Otabek had sunk thirty balls or so in rapid succession. Then he hit a wall. Where Yuri would just scratch and get it over with, Otabek is the king of fixing impossible fuck ups. He’ll sit and he’ll wait it out until he’s walked slowly around the table dozens of times, and finds a new angle. “It’s hard to follow through,” Otabek leans down onto the table and makes a sloppy bridge with his thumb and forefinger. He looks up at Yuri over his cue. “Isn’t it?”

“Ah, yeah.” Yuri looks at the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He gives it another drag and then snuffs it out in the ash tray. Turns out what mama and grandpa and all the other pack a day adults used to say was right. It’s easier to quit than to never start at all.

Yuri slides off the bar stool and steps over to Otabek. Their lips touch briefly, but Yuri pulls his partner closer by the collar of his jacket. His tongue darts across Otabek’s lips, and then just as quickly as he pulled him close, Yuri pushes him away.

You don’t stay in love this long by getting everything you want. Every day is an act of keeping him wanting more.

Yuri would like to say that he succeeds.

“So, they travel around the world,” Otabek retires to the back wall and takes in the table. Yuri can feel the low burn of Otabek’s eyes as takes in the entire shot, and zooms in on his actions with sharp precision. “They speak all kinds of languages, and they’re in perfect shape.”

Yuri leans into the shot and watches the balls bounce off the break. He pockets three at once, which is too many for a quick game on a Tuesday night. It makes his palms itch in the best kind of way. “Hey we do good enough for dance lessons and basement weights.”

Otabek continues, seemingly ignoring his comment. “But they’re boring?”

Yuri could argue, but he’s the one that hung out with them for a whole day. He knows best. “Yeah, Otabek. Don’t get me wrong.” He takes two rapid shots and sinks the six and the two. “Nice as hell. Sexy as all get out.”

“So I hear.” Yuri can feel the burn of Otabek’s eyes on his neck and his collar bones. It’s been a couple of days already since his most recent voyage, but the marks won’t go away. His Otabek in the here and the now keeps sucking them, and biting them, and marking over them every time he catches sight of them. So much so that they ache underneath his blouse.

It’s a nice reminder that he’s loved. That he belongs. Yuri clears the table in swift movements that go against the slow and friendly game they’d been engaged in. “Wanna go home? I’ll make something good for dinner?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Grilled cheese and soup?”

Otabek visibly winces. “You said something good.”

“All right, all right fine. But you gotta take me to the VIllage Pantry to get some shit. Then we can have bacon and eggs.”

“What do we need to get?”

“Bacon...and eggs.”

* * *

 

The next morning Yuri doesn’t have to be at work until noon, and Otabek doesn’t have class until two. So, they do the only thing that Yuri ever wants to do when he’s pulled from a sound sleep at seven thirty in the morning, and is somehow too alert to fall back asleep.

Yuri has perfected the art of waking Otabek up with kisses. He begins by leaning over his partner, and letting the ends of his long hair touch Otabek’s bare chest. He presses a kiss to his temple, and then to his mouth. More often than not, he’ll get a half peck in response.

Today he gets a peck, and a sleep mumble, “Love you.”

“Love you too Beka.” Yuri will place butterfly soft kisses across Otabek’s chest and his stomach, and marvel at the feeling of his lover’s stomach fluttering and tightening in the attention that he gives.

Yuri would be satisfied to simply pull Otabek’s cock through the flap in the front of his boxers, but by now Otabek’s awake enough to shuck his underwear.

Yuri loves a lot of things about Otabek, and being in a relationship with Otabek, and having sex with Otabek. Right now he loves feeling Otabek get hard in his mouth. He loves the musky scent of Otabek’s skin. He loves the feel of Otabek’s soft body hair against his lips. He loves reminding himself to relax as he tries to progressively take in more and more of Otabek’s hardening cock in his mouth.

And the way that Otabek says, “Yuri?” Like he’s never gotten into a bar fight, and never spat out blood onto pavement, like he’s innocent and unburdened by all the bullshit? Well, Yuri loves that most of all.

“Beka,” Yuri’s body is well trained, and it yields to Otabek now with minimal effort. Just a dab of lube on Otabek’s cock and Yuri can sink down onto Otabek before he can even open his eyes properly.

“Fuck, Yuri.”

“Trying babe.”

Yuri’s movements are slow and shallow. He’s done this enough times to know that Otabek comes quickly first thing in the morning, before the sleep has cleared from his brain and he has a chance to really think about it.

“What does he feel like?” and there’s a calloused hand pressing into the dark purple bruise that Otabek won’t let heal.

“Like you,” Yuri responds simply.

“Just-Ah,” Otabek gasps. “Like me?”

“No, cause-Ah Beka fuck-” Otabek’s started moving his hips against Yuri. It means Otabek hits that spot every time, and it makes his vision tunnel and the base of his spine feel tight. “You know exactly what I like.”

Yuri loves making Otabek come. Usually Otabek will flip them over and give him a few rough thrusts, but today he just let’s Yuri ride him until he can’t hold on any longer. Yuri likes these rare moments most of all.

“His come tastes better though,” Yuri says into Otabek’s chest moments later when they’re supposed to be basking in afterglow.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I think he eats more fruit though.”

Otabek peels back the blue plaid sheets and reaches between the covers for his discarded boxers. “I’m gonna go work on the Buick. See if I can get the radiator pulled out.”

“Oh come on Beka you cannot be jealous of that of all fucking things.”

Yuri showers, throws on a fresh pair of pajamas, and stalks up to the kitchen only to find that Otabek has already made coffee. He pours some of the thick black sludge that Otabek dares call coffee into Otabek’s shitty Ziggy mug. He’s had since they were kids. Yuri can remember drinking milk out of it at breakfast at Otabek’s house when they were young, and vodka and orange soda out of it when he was thirteen, and straight whiskey out of it when he was seventeen. Otabek had the nerve to pack it up and bring it from his parents’ goddamn house.

Yuri notices a large ball of foil resting on the counter next to Otabek’s keys and the coupons that he’d been meaning to use. Yuri looks over the rim of the mug and out the kitchen window. The sky is that mottled shade of cloudy purple blue that happens when the sun wants to come out, but the clouds say fuck no and make it rain.

Yuri wonders if that will mean lightening too.

He’s never seen it happen to someone else before, and someone’s gotta tell Otabek how to get back home. So, he stomps out the back door to the yard. “Hey, asshole. You gotta fuck with the microwave.”

* * *

 

Yuri steps out of the shower and onto the tan bath mat he’d bought for Otabek because he was tired of almost slipping out of the shower and busting his ass. Otabek thanked him earnestly, as if he’d never considered a bathmat before but understood their inherent value.

This moment only further confirmed Yuri’s suspicion that Otabek’s mother simply stocked the apartment with odds and ends from her giant fucking palace of a home, and Otabek never considered what normal people actually need to function. A king sized bed for one person? Sure. A bathmat? Fucking nope.

Yuri puts on one of Viktor’s giant hand me down shirts. This one he’d specifically pulled from a box in storage labelled “lounge attire.” It was a soft lilac color that matched nicely with the floral print underwear he’d ordered online after gaining Otabek’s approval. “You get all uppity about my underwear, what about these.”

“Yuri, you’re missing the point.”

Yuri considers blow drying his hair for a moment, and then opts to comb it out quickly. Training is done for the day, and they’re not going anywhere else. Why bother?

Once his hair is adequately tamed, Yuri heads toward the living room. Otabek went out to pick up some takeout, and so it’s his job to find something for them to watch on his laptop while they eat. This process of course, often takes far longer than it takes for Otabek to go out for food.

Yuri rounds the corner into the living room and is greeted by the sight of Otabek sitting on the couch. His legs are spread wide, as if he owns the place. His jacket is a smooth brushed black suede.

Yuri’s never seen Otabek wear suede before.

“What’s with you asshole? Your boots are fucking filthy.” The words spill out of Yuri’s mouth automatically when he sees the scuffed black work boots caked with dirt against the tan carpet. It’s the kind of thing that Otabek would definitely squint at in furious and silent concern. He didn't own a vacuum, and he had to borrow one from his neighbor every time he wanted to clean properly.

“Hey,” suede Otabek says, as if he was expecting the verbal tirade. “Nice pants.”

Yuri looks down only to feel his face go borscht fucking red. Because the only thing better than meeting other Otabek, was doing it in his goddamn underwear. “Nice jacket.” Yuri says it in a gruff tone, but he knows it sounds lame. The fact of the matter is his throat is dry, and his knees are weak at the mere memory of other Yuri’s visit, and the whisper of an idea that other Otabek might want the same thing.

“Thank you. You got it for me,” suede Otabek grunts. “He says he paid twenty dollars for it like that’s a big deal.” Yuri thought that his Otabek’s stare was intense. This Otabek’s stare seems ravenous, predatory. There’s an intensity there that Yuri’s never experienced before, and it makes him want to run away. It makes him want to chase it to the end of the earth.

“So, like that’s cheap? Or that’s expensive?” It’s hard to tell, considering the other version of himself apparently liked to shoplift, but had a taste for designer items.

“I don’t know.” Other Otabek confesses.

“Look,” Yuri’s heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest. He’s acutely aware of the prickle and the flush of an erection. It would be incredibly stupid to deny any of what was about to happen. “Before you carry me off and have your way with me, I’m gonna call my Otabek. He’s out getting food. He’ll get you some too.”

Other Otabek purses his lips together briefly. His eyes dart to Yuri’s crotch. “Thanks.”

* * *

 

“Otabek,” he answers Yuri’s call moments before it was about to go to voicemail. He’d just parked the bike outside their favorite takeout place. It was in the next borough over, but the food was worth it. Noodles and short ribs, vegetables and rice that inexplicably tasted better than anything they could make at home. “You are not gonna believe who fucking appeared in your living room.”

“Other Yuri?” and he tries to contain the excitement in his voice.

“Guess again.”

“Other me?” and he tries to not sound disappointed. He’s sure that version of himself is fine, and he knows he’ll have the chance to find out rather soon.

“Yeah, so bring him some food okay?” Yuri whispers into the phone, “A fucking lot of it I guess.” Other Yuri’s appetite was voracious, and it was smart for Yuri to assume the other version of himself was similar.

“Okay.” For a moment he considers asking what the other version of himself would like. Then, he silently decides to just get what he would like.

“Otabek?” He doesn’t miss how Yuri’s voice is breathy, needy. “Do I have to wait til you get home to fuck him?”

* * *

 

“Ah-Love,” Yuri stares daggers into other Otabek who currently has his hands worked up underneath his hoodie and is playing with his nipples. Yuri knows nothing about universal constants. He doesn’t really give a fuck about what does and does not stay the same between planes of existence, but Otabek’s ability to tease and do nothing other than get under his skin has got to be one of them. “You too.”

Yuri hits the bright red “end” button on his phone and tosses it. “You are such an asshole,” but Yuri’s actions contradict his words as he melts into this other Otabek’s chest. Other Otabek grasps at his chest, rakes his hands across his stomach, and nips at his neck. “What the fuck is wrong with people where you’re from?”

“I could say the same about you. Calling me, just to see if you can fuck someone else. I wouldn’t let you out of my sight if I were him.” Yuri feels the sharp pleasure pain burn of pressure and teeth on his neck. “Maybe we show our love differently.”

“Otabek-ah,” Yuri remembers how the other version of himself said that this Otabek would be jealous if his Otabek left marks. Yuri remembers the soft purple pink marks that stood out, even underneath other Yuri’s lace top. Yuri feels the possessive sting on the juncture of his shoulder that shoots straight to his cock. He’s so fucked.

“He left a mark on my Yuri.” This Otabek husks into his ear. I’ve had to look at it every day for almost a week, but-” Otabek bathes the mark with his tongue. “This makes it worth it.” Otabek’s hands drift lower and palm his dick through his underwear. In no time there’s a sticky wet patch on his underwear that clings to his skin.

It’s rough and it’s irritating. It’s the best feeling in the world when this Otabek, still fully dressed suede jacket and all, peels his damp underwear away.

The hoodie is peeled away too, and Otabek’s mouth latches onto his nipples. He lavishes each one with kisses, and nips and licks until Yuri can feel pin prick tears of overstimulation at the corner of his eyes. He’s so fucking fucked. This Otabek has barely touched his dick.

“You’re a dancer right?” Otabek releases his left nipple with an obscene smack.

“Yeah.” Yuri’s voice is shakey, barely sounds like his own.

Otabek’s eyes dart to the wall, and then back to Yuri and to the wall. “Really flexible?” but he’s already picking Yuri up around the middle, and kneading his ass with his other hand.

“Beka,” and he never thought he’d fucking say this to Otabek, his or otherwise. Otabek took it fucking slow. “Wait, we need.”

Other Otabek sets him down against the wall that’s opposite his Otabek’s bookshelf. “Am I not good to you Yuri?” Other Otabek captures his lips for the first time, and all the raw and frustrated energy that’s been utilized elsewhere on his body is all consuming when their mouths finally meet. This Otabek’s lips are chapped. His kiss is bruising, and it takes Yuri’s breath away.

He and Otabek have always had a playful arrangement. Yuri is fast and demanding, Otabek is slower and teasing for a while, and gives in and matches Yuri’s pace. This Otabek is nothing but harsh and relentless, and it rips open a fire in Yuri’s gut that he fears might be unextinguishable.

Otabek presses rough calloused fingers to his lips, and Yuri knows on instinct what to do. He works his tongue around them, between them, and makes sure to coat them, because this Otabek seems to find the idea of lube to be insulting.

When other Otabek deems his fingers properly wet, he pulls them out, spins Yuri around, and sinks to his knees. “Hands against the wall. Okay?”

Yuri can feel his asshole twitch against other Otabek as he traces his rim, and he wants to die of embarrassment. Other Otabek sizes the opportunity and sinks his saliva coated finger into the knuckle.

Yuri sucks in air like he’s been held underwater for a long long time.

“Yuri,” Otabek’s voice is softer and firm. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” It doesn’t hurt, but it takes him by surprise.

“So tight,” other Otabek murmurs against his bare skin. Then, Yuri feels the foreign yet familiar feeling of a tongue against his hole. His Otabek usually doesn’t do it like this. He usually doesn’t use his fingers and his mouth on his hole at the same time. “But I’ll take care of you, kitten. I promise.”

“Beka.” Otabek’s tongue always makes him weak. This other Otabek is no exception.

“Beka.” Other Otabek removes his finger, spreads Yuri’s cheeks wide and spits in between. It makes him feel so dirty, but Otabek uses it to stretch him out so good.

“Beka.” This Otabek allows his tongue to sink in right away, as if he were hell bent on getting him as wet as possible as quickly as possible.

“Beka.” Yuri’s everything is reduced to the off white painted wall before him and the combined fury of Otabek’s mouth and fingers stretching him open. The soft smacking sound of Otabek’s lips spitting onto his hole make his chest ache with shame, but he dare not tear himself away to go to the bedroom to get lube.

Then, in the distance, like it’s a dream, or like he’s truly been caught doing something awful, Yuri hears the jingling of keys, and the soft shocked inhale of “Yuri.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” a near identical version of himself grabs onto Yuri’s hips, turns to him, and smiles softly. “Can you go get us some lube? He’s really tight.”

Otabek feels something deep and something primal tug at him. It’s more intense than when cotton candy pink lipped Yuri kissed his Yuri. It’s something dark and almost ugly. Yet at the same time his feet feel cemented to the floor. Like he wants nothing more than to watch Yuri be picked apart by this intimately familiar stranger.

Otabek enters his room and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The sound of Yuri moaning, “Beka please. Otabek. Please hurry,” and it’s unclear which one he’s talking to. Otabek palms himself through his jeans, and waits for his body to stop shaking. He can do this. If Yuri can do this for him, then he can do this for Yuri. He wants this for both of them. He grabs the bottle of lube off of the dresser and goes back into the living room.

Otabek makes sure that before he hands off the lube, he wedges himself in between other Otabek and Yuri and gives him a long lingering kiss. “I love you Yuri.”

“I love you too Beka,” Yuri’s eyes flutter open and he looks so completely gone despite having nothing more than other Otabek’s tongue and fingers.

“Alright Yuri.” Other Otabek has shucked his jacket, and unbuttoned his pants. “Let’s give your Beka a good show. Okay?”

“Wait, I want mine. I want-” Yuri is boneless. Has his hand wrapped around his neck. Otabek doesn’t want to give him back.

“Don’t you want to make him watch first? My Yuri said you were really good at teasing.” It’s an artful choice of words. He could’ve said “good at teasing me,” but didn’t, as if he knew that that choice of words would backfire and end with Yuri on his cock for sure.

“Beka,” Yuri coos into his ear. “Other you is an asshole.” He can feel him smirk against the shell of his ear. “But he might have a point.”

Otabek lets out an undignified whine.

“Sit on the couch,” other Otabek instructs. “Touch yourself.”

Otabek sinks into the sofa and with shaky hands undoes the fly of his zipper.

Otabek knows for a fact that Yuri’s eyes go wide and his pupils dilate when he enters him. He knows that Yuri’s chest gets flushed red with arousal. He loves the way his nipples get hard when he’s turned on, but he’d never anticipated the way it would look when another man fucked him.

Stranger still, he never anticipated looking into his own searing gaze while it happened. It was like looking into a mirror a few years into the future. This version of him looked tired, as if he’d had a restless night, or countless restless nights of sleep. Otherwise they were physically similar. The other version of him was a little bit broader in the chest. There was just muscle from raw physicality, and no leanness from years of skating.

Still, it was clear that even though this version of himself was rougher with Yuri, more demanding, and possessive over a man that did not belong to him, he loved Yuri in all forms.

* * *

 

Other Otabek flipped their positions, leaned against the wall, poured lots of lube onto his cock, and entered Yuri from behind. Although both Otabeks were the same size, it still took Yuri a moment to adjust. “Beka,” Yuri locks eyes with his partner. Is this how Otabek felt the other day? Constantly torn between the person he loves unconditionally, and a person that he feels love for automatically? “You look really good like that.”

It was the truth. Otabek lazily touched himself. It reminded him of all the times Yuir has thrown on a random video for inspiration, and Otabek didn’t give a fuck so long as he was getting laid.

“Same to you.” Yuri can see the way his nostrils flair and the way he carries the tension in his body in his bitten lower lip.

“Okay,” Yuri leans back into other Otabek. “I’m ready.”

“Ready to give him a good show?” Yuri can feel him bend slightly at the knee. The position is awkward. “Put your hand around my neck.”

“We do this in skating.” Yuri complies.

“Is that right?” In a swift movement, other Otabek picks Yuri up. With one hand locked under each knee, he spreads Yuri wide. Yuri balances his upper body weight onto other Otabek’s chest, and the wall.

He and Otabek both breathe, “Oh god,” at the same time.

The position is awkward. Other Otabek can thrust impossibly deep, but each jerk of his hips make Yuri feel like he’s going to topple over.

The look on his Otabek’s face is so fucking worth it though. The tension that he carries constantly is all but abandoned for a look of wide eyed, slack jawed adoration. His Otabek’s pace increases getting faster and faster with other Otabek’s merciless thrusts, and then he’ll slow down as if he doesn’t want this to end.

“You are beautiful Yuri,” his Otabek says finally. His voice firm, but soft cuts through the plentiful sounds of moans and grunts between the three of them.

“So beautiful,” other Otabek grunts into his ear. “So fucking beautiful,” and it sounds strange coming from Otabek’s mouth and hearing it in Otabek’s voice because he so rarely says the word. Yuri wants to laugh, the word “fuck” shouldn’t sound so fucking beautiful. “Hey,” other Otabek punctuates his words with particularly long deep thrusts that make Yuri want to cross his eyes. “Should we be nice to him?”

“Ah-” Yuri can’t hold a single thought in his head right now other than “Otabek,” and “Beka,” and “Otabek.”

“Come suck your boyfriend’s cock.” Other Otabek says it into his neck, but Yuri knows that he’s saying it to his Otabek.

Yuri once chided Otabek for being predictable. Encouraged him to include different quads. Now, Otabek is anything but predictable. Yuri expects him to rise from the couch and sink to his knees. Instead, he shucks his jeans and fucking crawls across the carpet.

It takes every ounce of Yuri’s strength and rapidly crumbling resolve to not come on other Otabek’s dick right then and there.

Otabek cups him in his hand and stares intently at where he and other Otabek are joined. Yuri feels him run an experimental finger around his rim.

Other Otabek’s thrusts are shallow, as if he’s content to just let his Otabek watch for awhile. In and out, and in and out. His Otabek tries to push a finger inside, and it’s too much despite all of the lube and all of the spit.  
“Ah, Beka too much.”

“Sorry Yura,” Otabek’s voice sounds guilt laden.

“It’s fine. Just too much.”

“This will work better if I put you down,” other Otabek says. “Can you stand babe?” and he remembers that name from other Yuri’s visit. Baby babe. It rolls off of his tongue naturally, as if it’s said between the two of them all the time. Yuri can’t imagine calling his Otabek babe.

“Ah, yeah, fuck.” Yuri lets out a litany of curses as Otabek plants his shaky legs back onto the ground.

“Yura,” Otabek rises to a crouch in order to kiss him once more. It feels so fucking good to have his Otabek near. Yuri wants to call the whole thing off and let his Otabek fuck him, but as always it’s his Otabek that’s filling in the gaps in his confidence. Building him up when he least expects it and demanding his best. “It’s going to feel so good, when I have you after him. And You’re stretched open and you have our come inside of you,”

“Oh my fucking god.” Yuri moans. This is just too fucking much. Otabek is just too fucking much.  
There’s a dark whiskey and cigarettes chuckle behind him. “Oh. I see why Yuri is so infatuated.”

His Otabek wraps his lips around his dick, and swallows him down immediately. Behind him he can feel the other Otabek’s strokes become uneven and erratic. He’s got his hands planted on either hip, and Yuri is certain that he’ll bruise, certain that he’ll cherish each and every finger print long after he’s gone and long after they’ve faded.

First Yuri feels other Otabek twitch deep inside of him. Then he comes down Otabek’s throat.

* * *

 

Yuri whines in protest when other Otabek pulls out. It’s stupid because he’s so thoroughly fucked, and his Otabek hasn’t even come yet.

“Yuri,” He speaks softly and firmly into his ear. It’s so hauntingly familiar and endlessly comforting that it sends chills down Yuri’s spine. “It’s okay. I’m going to go wash off,” Other Otabek explains it in the same way that his Otabek explains complex themes in literature. “Your Otabek is going to fuck you. Then, when I come back you’ll suck my cock.”

* * *

 

His Otabek carries him into the bedroom and guides him down onto the mattress so that his hips are raised and his chest is flush against the bed. He’s not used to being carried around like he’s some sort of frail thing, and so when Otabek leans into kiss him, Yuri makes sure that it’s fiery and it’s passionate. Lets him know that he’s not just willing to take more, he expects it.

His Otabek slides in easily and without resistance, but he still goes painfully slowly. Yuri doesn’t mind. His whole body is humming with overstimulation. Otabek’s cock would normally feel like heaven. Now, it feels like too much with the promise of everything he’s ever wanted.

“Beka,” Yuri wills himself to sit up on his haunches on the bed so that he can wrap his arms around Otabek’s neck much like he did with other Otabek. Their kiss is soft, not teasing but tender. “I love you.” He says upon breaking the kiss. “And you,” he gestures to other Otabek, who has returned from the bathroom. “Loose the rest of your goddamn clothes. I made him get the rest of the way naked,” Yuri cocks his head back gesturing to his Otabek.

“Yes sir,” other Otabek pulls his shirt over his head and ditches his pants.

Other Otabek joins them on the bed.

His Otabek’s thrusts are shallow, but they don’t fool Yuri. Not for a moment. Otabek needs, but Yuri just wants to take.

“Kiss him Beka,” Yuri’s talking to his Otabek, but he’s locked eyes with other Otabek. His stare is no longer that of predator, but startled and wide eyed, like prey. “Or is that too weird?” He laughs at them both.

Yuri immediately feels that the plan has backfired. He can feel the intensity of twin Otabek stares upon him. In that moment he realizes he’s grown complacent in the time that he and his Otabek have been together. Where Otabek’s gaze is now unnerving at best, the dual sets of eyes upon him remind him of the times when Otabek’s gaze shook him to the core and left him questioning everything.

Then, silently, as if the two reached some sort of mutual agreement, his Otabek was leaning over his shoulder. Other otabek was leaning to the side. Although the positioning was awkward, they did their best to make sure that he could see the way chapped lips met lips that rarely went without chapstick. They made sure he could see the way Otabek looked peaceful when his eyes were closed, and the subtle and understated beauty of his close shaved undercut, all at the same time.

He’s the luckiest goddamn man on earth.

When they part, their eyes are back on him. This time the unspoken agreement seems to say that they’re done indulging him. Otabek’s cock twitches inside of him and seems to agree.

His Otabek splays his hands between his shoulders, and pushes him into Otabek. Other Otabek catches his mouth in a kiss and then guides him back down onto the mattress.

Yuri tries his hardest to force them both into a rhythm. His Otabek’s thrusts are steady and hard. Other Otabek gets progressively harder in his mouth making it difficult take him all in at once and meet his Otabek thrust for thrust.

“Are you alright Yuri?”

Yuri whimpers.

“Does it feel good Yuri?”

Yuri moans.

“Do you love us Yuri?”

Yuri sobs, and hopes that even with his mouth full of cock they know that he’s screaming, “yes.”  
Yuri feels that it might be best to simply be used by both his Otabek and other Otabek. Yuri does his best to relax his body and let them thrust, and push, and guide.

“Does it feel good?” Other Otabek asks. “Fucking my come out of his hole.”

Both Yuri and his Otabek moan. “Sloppy,” his Otabek grunts and gives him a particularly deep thrust. It makes Yuri all but gag on other Otabek’s cock. “Sexy,” and there’s the hint of a smile there, half cocked and over confident. The kind that made him fall in love with his Otabek to begin with.

It’s wonderful. So fucking wonderful. So fucking unfair that he gets to be greedy and have two Otabeks, and other Yuri may never get this experience.

Other Otabek gathers his hair up into a messy bun onto the top of his head and thrusts into his mouth mercilessly. All the while whispering softly to him, “relax, relax, relax.” Then, before he can comprehend what’s going on, other Otabek grabs his own cock at the base and and is jerking himself so that only the tip rests against Yuri’s lips.

Yuri’s mouth, and his lips, and the bridge of his nose and his cheeks are coated with other Otabek’s come.

His Otabek rubs his perineum, and whispers into his ear, “show him how you can come on just my cock.” Before reaching around his hips and blocking other Otabek’s hands from touching his dick.

And so Yuri does.

Yuri feels his Otabek shoot into his stretched and fucked out hole. It’s the best feeling in the world.

* * *

 

“You bought these for me?” other Otabek has extracted a pack of matches from between a few pillar candles on the dresser and slunk back into bed. He lights up the cigarette and shakes out the match. “That’s kind of... “ Otabek takes a long drag and exhales audibly. “Sweet.”

Yuri lays between his Otabek and other Otabek. God should strike him dead now, because he’s never going to experience anything half as good. It doesn’t even compare to medaling. He drifts in and out of the conversation. The only thing that keeps him awake is the fact that he’s starving and he knows there’s takeout in the apartment somewhere. Oh yeah, and his time with other Otabek is limited.

“When Yuri called,” Otabek pauses. Yuri can feel that the tension has returned to his voice. “I thought that you might like them.”

“I quit smoking,” other Otabek chuckles. “This is the first one I’ve had in months.” He takes another long drag. “And I don’t smoke menthols. That’s Yuri’s thing.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Otabek confesses. “Can I try?”

“You’re an Olympic athlete,” other Otabek scoffs.

“I’ve always kind of wanted to. My dad did.” His Otabek extends his hand across Yuri towards other Otabek.

“And your dad’s fucking dead Beka,” Yuri growls.

“No,” other Otabek decides with a tinge of finality in his voice. “That’s how me and Yuri got started. His mom would let us light her smokes for her because she thought it was funny.” Other Otabek snubs the cigarette out into the same potted plant that other Yuri had used as an ashtray. These people did not know how to fucking care for plants.

“How did you get that scar?” Yuri gestures to a deep and jagged mark on other Otabek’s bicep.

“You met Yuri.” Otabek says it as if that’s supposed to be all the explanation that they need. “People don’t understand him. Some people are smart enough to think that he belongs to me, and because of that they should keep their hands off. Other people believe that because they don’t understand, they can touch, and take, and hurt. Not enough people are smart enough to understand that Yuri’s his own person. Commands respect.”

It’s the most other Otabek has said at all during his time here. Then, as if nothing between the three of them had changed he asks his Otabek, “You want me to jerk you off?” “You’re the only one that didn’t come twice.”

* * *

 

Otabek didn’t know what to expect. He’d watched his Yuri and other Yuri tussle between the sheets, and kiss, and touch each other. He views this part of the experience as a performance for Yuri. Yuri looked like he legitimately enjoyed having an alternate version of himself kiss him, and cuddle him, and touch his cock. Otabek isn’t so sure how he feels.

Yuri stays right between them and watches with dinner plate wide eyes.

Yuri whispers into his ear the whole time, “isn’t it great? Doesn’t he just know?” and of course he does. Other Otabek’s hands are rough and calloused. His touch is firm, and grabs him just right. In no time at all he’s spilling into other Otabek’s hand and onto his stomach.

“Can we eat?” Other Otabek asks soon after.

“Yeah,” Yuri replies. “But we have to go back in the livingroom,” Otabek can feel Yuri stare daggers into him. “Cause Beka doesn’t like eating in the bed.”

“Fair,” other Otabek responds. "Mine likes to eat toast in bed." 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” Otabek asks after other Otabek has gone. Much like the other night, they’ve drifted back into their nightly routine. It’s almost as if they hadn’t had wild inter dimensional sex at all. 

“Nothing,” Yuri responds over his laptop screen. “Just trying to find you a suede jacket. You know, in case the leather gets boring.”   
“Yuri!”

 


	3. Yours or Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the self-cest. 
> 
> Yuri pov/ his Yuri/blue lipstick Yuri = FAWL Yuri  
> Otabek pov/his Otabek/Leather jacket Otabek = Fawl Otabek
> 
> Other Yuri/Pink lipstick Yuri = HBB Yuri  
> Other Otabek/Suede Jacket Otabek = HBB Otabek

“On three?” Yuri asks. He’s already leaning into the bed frame with all of his weight. It does nothing against the dense bed frame and Yuri’s socks slide against the carpet.

“Hm,” Otabek agrees. “One. Two. Three,” and then finally leans into the bed frame alongside Yuri. Slowly the bed scoots across the carpet, and meets the other mattress. Once the bed frames are butted up against one another, Yuri pushes the mattress over so that it meets the other.

Otabek and Yuri are in the guest bedroom on the main floor at Otabek’s parents’ house. Farida’s summer break has just begun, and the family has decided to take a vacation to go visit their villa in Malta.

Yuri and Otabek have decided to use the alone time to their advantage. They’ve got the end table moved outward, and both queen beds pushed together in order to make one soft and expansive surface. It is certainly big enough for four people to climb into, and not get out of for several days.

This of course, was much to the family’s dismay. “You love Malta, Otabek.” Darya says it with the same kind of tone in which you remind someone that they’ve forgotten their umbrella on a rainy day. Of course, considering Otabek, and Otabek’s family, this kind of reminder is not so strange. “Yuri is more than welcome to come.”

“We’d much rather stay and work on the new choreography,” Otabek explains. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Although summer was just beginning, Victor had gotten a series of wild fucking hairs up his ass that had grown red and infected, and so of course their choreography for the upcoming season was that impossible mixture of fucking strange and damn near impossible that Victor strives for.

It wasn’t exactly the truth either. Yuri wrote detailed information about the Ibrayev’s upcoming vacation, wrapped the wadded paper up in tinfoil, and stuck it in the microwave. A day later, they received a potato wrapped in foil. Across the skin in felt tipped marker was written with messy scrawl, “Fuck yeah. We’ll be there.”

“There’s a huge crack in the middle.” Yuri complains.

“Not much that can be done about it.”

Yuri stomps around the adjoined beds and pushes the other mattress in an attempt to lessen the crack as much as possible. “Yeah, of course you fucking say that.” He huffs. “You assholes are probably going to stick us in the middle, cause fucking myself is weird, but fucking another Yuri is fine.”.

Otabek simply shrugs his shoulders, as if to say in silent agreement that Yuri is in fact, correct.

Otabek busies himself with running his hands all over the furniture in a nervous attempt to dust. It’s kind of cute, because everything in his mother’s house is spotless.

“I’m fucking nailing myself,” Yuri says in a firm gruff tone.

“That is more than fine,” Otabek responds in a hungry, and overeager tone. It’s no fucking secret that the mere memory of him and other Yuri making out makes Otabek flush with that addictive mixture of want-need-jealousy that the other versions of themselves seems to bring out.

“Then we don’t want the middle of the fucking bed,” Yuri doesn’t feel like he knows the alternative version of himself that well, but he knows he can at least speak for him on these kinds of things.

* * *

“Are you….” Yuri squints at him in disbelief. “Flossing?”

Otabek squints back at him in the mirror. His mouth open wide, and his index fingers are throttled red from winding the floss too tightly around them. “What does it look like I’m doing Plisetsky?”

“Still…” Yuri grabs his tube of lipgloss from the counter, and twists the long sticky wand in his hand. “Flossing? I’m super fucking jealous.”

“So you didn’t shave and put on the lace thong?” Otabek’s tone is dry and disinterested, like he’s asked Yuri to take out the garbage. Yuri can feel the white hot intensity of his gaze burning through his dress.

“Yeah, but I do that for you all the time. Unlike…” Yuri gestures to the floss that’s balanced on the counter.

“I got it Plisetsky.”

* * *

Yuri walks into Otabek’s room with a towel draped around his waist. Otabek is fixing his tie in the full length mirror near the closet, and Yuri has to stifle a laugh against the back of his hand. Otabek is dressed in a suit that probably costs more than the alternate version of himself makes in a year. He’s putting it on in his childhood bedroom, which is littered with books, and cigar boxes, and all sorts of chunks of amethyst, rose quartz, fool’s gold, and turquoise. There are model airplanes that are far older than Otabek himself which hang from the ceiling. They have worn paint, and nicotine yellowed wings made of canvas. All the little trappings of childhood that don’t tend to mesh well with expensive Italian suits.

“Jesus fuck Beka, is that the Kiton?” Otabek has a closet full of finely tailored suits, but this one was special. It’s among the most expensive of his suits. Otabek’s parents got it for him for his twentieth birthday, and it only leaves the closet on the most special of occasions. Yuri knows for a fact that he’s never worn it out on a date with him. He tries not to feel jealous.

“Um,” Otabek toys with his tie once more. The double windsor is symmetrical. He needs to stop fucking with it before he fucks it up. “Yes?”

Yuri closes the distance between them, pushes Otabek’s hands away, smooths the tie, and says, “It’s fine,” about the tie and the suit. “I’m jealous.”

Otabek clasps at Yuri’s hands which rest on his chest. “You took the lube with you into the bath,” and then kisses him in the way that only his Otabek can kiss him. Gets up into his space, grabs him softly by the base of the neck, and sends shivers down his spine before their mouths even meet.

“He’s kind of rough,” Yuri admits when they part. “You planned so much,” Yuri gestures to the black shopping bags with Versace labels. He’d helped Otabek pick out almost everything, and yet...He’d planned absolutely nothing for himself and other Otabek to do. He hadn’t considered feeling self conscious about it until now.

Otabek pulls him close once more, and kneads the soft flesh of his ass. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

* * *

“We are going to be late,” Yuri chides but does nothing to pull Otabek off of him. Otabek’s got him backed up into the counter. The handle of the microwave would be digging into his back if Otabek weren’t such a goddamn gentleman scoundrel, and holding him so that he didn’t so much as touch the appliance.

Otabek releases his collarbone with a sharp pop. Yuri can already feel the mark that’s blossoming beneath his skin. “Like they aren’t doing this right now too,” Otabek offers in explanation.

When Otabek decides he’s finished, Yuri’s half hard and straining in his panties. Then, and only then does Otabek take the little piece of tin foil from the junk drawer, and pop it into the microwave.

* * *

“Are we just going to fucking stand here and look at each other?” Other Yuri’s in the kitchen slamming cabinet doors, because he “forgot to eat something,” before they left. Otabek of course tried to tell him that he’d made plans for dinner, but to no avail.

Right now he’s having serious fucking flashbacks of getting fucked by both Otabeks in his Otabek’s living room. Currently, other Otabek’s gaze drifts heavily from him, to his Otabek and back again.

“Your parents live here?” Suede jacket Otabek says finally.

“Yes,” Otabek supplies. “Natural gas and mineral extractions,” His Otabek responds to other Otabek’s silent question.

“How did that work?” Suede Otabek asks. “With the communism?”

“Well, I guess in the nineties-”

Even fucking better. Yuri can feel his fucking eyes roll to the back of his head. Instead of staring at each other, they’ll talk about boring shit. Although Yuri shouldn’t complain, at least they were talking to one another.

Other Yuri emerges from the kitchen. He’s wiping crumbs off of his shirt. “Now that my blood sugar is back to normal, we can start.” He slips his hand into Leather Otabek’s arm. “I feel super fucking under dressed by the way.”

The rules are simple. He’ll go on a date with other Otabek. His Otabek will go on a date with other Yuri. They’ll meet back here at ten p.m. Then they have to share with each other.

Both Otabeks of fucking course make a huge fucking deal of mauling him and Pink Lipstick Yuri in the foyer until their almost blue in the face and gasping for air. At one point, Yuri opened his eyes into the kiss to see Pink lipstick Yuri rolling his eyes over his Otabek’s shoulder. Yuri had never agreed with a nonverbal gesture more.

* * *

“I didn’t plan anything like he did.” Yuri confesses. “I know Almaty really well though. Or there’s a pool table downstairs. You could show me-” Although he’s not sure how he feels about staying at the house. His Otabek planned the entire date for Pink Lipstick Yuri at the house. He feels like he’d be tempted to spy or intrude.

“You have a Ducati right?” Suede jacket Otabek asks.

Yuri leans back slightly to give himself access to his pants pockets. He more or less had to pour himself into these jeans. He fishes the simple keyring out, and tosses it to Otabek. Otabek catches it seamlessly.

“Let’s go.” Otabek pulls him close, and jams a hand down Yuri’s back pocket.

The feeling of Otabek’s hand on his ass makes him feel giddy as fuck. “Do you even know where you’re going?” Of course he doesn’t. This Otabek’s never been to Almaty before, which is fucking wild as fuck to Yuri.

“No.” He responds simply. “Doesn’t matter.” Otabek smiles that knowing little smile at him. The one that his Otabek gives him when he’s being cheeky. It’s a look that silently says “long as I’m with you.” It’s eerie. His Otabek smells like rosemary and leather. This Otabek smells like old spice deodorant, and cheap aftershave, and musty suede. His Otabek is practically genius, and total bookworm, but other Otabek is the one that attends college. Both Otabeks chose their words as if they’re high interest loans that must be repaid in full. Both Otabeks are thoughtful, contemplative. Simultaneously calming him down and stroking the fire deep within that tells him to be loud, and to be reckless.

Like two sides of the rarest and most valuable coin.

As soon as the door to the garage slams shut, Yuri moves into kiss him. Their noses bump slightly. His lips are chapped. Yuri kisses him hungrily. Otabek kisses back roughly, but he can feel a tinge of uncertainty there. Yuri fucking giggles like a schoolgirl, when Otabek, wide eyed and macho demeanor shattered blinks wide eyed when they part.

“Might have missed you.” Yuri gruffs in a poor attempt to make up for his school girl giggle. “Don’t fucking tell him.” With a tone that gives away the fact that Leather Jacket Otabek already knows.

“Might have missed you too.” Otabek nips his neck.

Yuri slams the big button that opens the garage door, and Otabek straddles the Ducati. Yuri joins him, and takes great delight in wrapping his arms around this Otabek’s waist and touching soft black suede. “Take a left out of the driveway, and then get onto the main highway. South goes toward the city.” Yuri places a few more quick, over excited closed mouthed kisses onto Suede Jacket Otabek’s mouth. His eyes are dark, mysterious, dangerous, so kind, and so impossibly loving. “North, up towards the mountains.”

* * *

“I feel really underdressed,” Pink lipstick Yuri confesses. He runs his fingers over the neatly stitched lapels of Otabek’s suit, and lets his long elegant fingers splay across Otabek’s chest.

“You are.” Otabek admits. “Yuri helped me pick out a few things.”

Yuri’s sugar frosting colored lips go slack, and his eyes go wide. Otabek wants to hold onto that look for forever. He wants it burned into his memory, and wants to compare it to ever beautiful sour face that Yuri gives him when he’s upset, or woken up too early, or disgusted by his coaches open affection. “You shouldn’t have.” But he’s already moving toward the screen printed shopping bags.

Otabek quickly steps in front of him, and reaches for the largest package. It’s got a very large bow on top. It’s contents made the ladies in the gift wrapping department titter with glee that he had a “very lucky girl. Tall. But lucky.”

“This one first.”

“It’s like that shitty movie, Pretty Woman or something.”

“Yuri said you’d say that.”

Yuri carefully takes the ribbon between pinkish nude acrylic nails. His cuticles are dry and picked at so that the skin around his nail beds are pinkish red and puffy. Yuri pulls the ribbon taut. Then, the knot unfolds. Otabek holds the box for him, and Yuri carefully lifts up the top.

Somehow he manages to earn the look again. Slack jawed wide eyed wonder. Yuri tosses the top of the box aside, and removes the dress from the box. Soft pink satin spills out and down.

“You fucking bought this? For me?”

“Uh-hm.” Otabek smiles. His Yuri always gets slightly upset whenever he lavishes him with expensive and luxurious items. He wonders if this Yuri will do the same. “There are shoes, and some jewelry too.”

“Get the fuck out of here babe.” Yuri slaps his chest playfully. “I should probably like, try to refuse this shouldn’t I?”

Otabek shakes his head no.

“I’m not refusing. I’m taking it with me when we leave.”

“That’s fine.”

The dress is a soft pink taffeta. It has a plunging neckline and little cap sleeves. It was floor length. Yuri told him that he’d appreciate the subtle mermaid silhouette. That it would show Pink Yuri’s hips in juxtaposition to his trim waistline. That he had the figure for it.

Otabek didn’t question Yuri’s judgement.

“Will you help me into it?”

“Of course.

* * *

Yuri thought that he was used to Otabek weaving in and out of traffic, going far above the speed limit, and taking curves too fast. He thought he was used to it, because it’s one of the few uncalculated and risky things that his Otabek actually does. On the bike, his Otabek is free and uncontrolled.

Yuri thought that, until he was on the back of the Ducati and grabbing fistfuls of black suede and praying to every single god that he’s ever heard of just in case. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have let the foreigner drive in a country he’s never been in before.

The engine roars loud, and he can feel the bike surge into a higher gear. Otabek went in the opposite direction of what he’d suggested. They’re headed up the mountain instead of down into the city. Yuri can feel the air get thinner and crisper as they climb. It smacks him across the face and pours into the back of his head as if he didn’t have a brain at all. Just cold air and Otabek.

He absofuckinglutely loved it.

* * *

With trembling hands, Otabek placed one hand firm at the base of Yuri’s spine. With the other, he slowly zipped up the dress. Cautiously, as if it were finely spun gold, he brushes Yuri’s hair out of the way and continues to zip the rest of the way up.

“I didn’t think you would actually help me dress,” Yuri says almost regretfully.

Otabek takes him softly by the elbow, and has him sit in the edge of the massive bed that swallows up the room. Then, he lowers himself to his knees, stockings in hand. “

“But I like seeing you in this position.”

Otabek tries to remain unphased. It’s difficult when he’s looking up at those pink sugar frosted lips, and recalls in great detail how they looked and how they felt wrapped around his cock. It’s hard when he stares into sea green eyes of endless depths. “I like being in this position.” he admits. “For you. Later though. I have dinner planned. If you want I can play the piano for you.”

“How the fuck can you be so smooth, and talk me down from trying to talk you into blowing me?”

“Because you know that waiting will be worth it.”Carefully, he bunches the nylon up in his hand and grabs the ball of Yuri’s foot.

“How do you know to do that?”

“Hm?” Otabek presses a quick kiss to the inside of Yuri’s ankle. His feet are soft and unbruised and uncalloused. He’s never woken up the morning after a long practice barely able to walk.

“Scrunching up the nylons like that. It’s not something most guys know.” And as if to punctuate his point he adds, “Otabek tried to get me dressed one time to go out. I’d been drinking all day down at the Amvets. He tried to tug them on me like pants.”

“Never really thought about it.” Otabek rolls the nylon over one soft and unblemished foot and rolls it upward. He leaves a trail of chaste little kisses up Yuri’s leg stopping at his knee. “I guess I just watch? My mom getting my sister dressed, or my old pairs partner.”

“He doesn’t dress up for you?”

“Um,” For the first time Otabek feels tension in the room. Blatant and belligerent, it’s hard to pretend that he wants to continue to go through the motions of getting Yuri ready, and not just hiking the dress up high, and pulling the little lace underwear down. “One time.”

“You’re blushing. Bet it was super fucking hot.”

“It was.” Otabek repeats the motion with Yuri’s other foot. Carefully bunching up the stocking and stealing kisses of soft skin wherever and whenever he could. “You dress up for him?”

“All the fucking time. I found a silk robe with all these chinese characters on it at the vintage store. It’s scarlet red and barely covers my ass. I wear that when I get out of the shower and nothing else. For Christmas, I put on my heels and my fur coat, and my pearls and nothing else. For his birthday, I bought this body stocking and-”

The plan had been to help Yuri into his shoes and then go downstairs for dinner, but Otabek finds it impossible to contain his ever growing need and desire. He knows that this version of Yuri feels like satin, from the softness of his mouth, to his lean, but unathletic build, to deep inside.

Yuri tastes like diet coke and the bitter earthy taste of tobacco. Yuri sighs into the kiss right away, a breathy little, “oh,” as if he’d truly anticipated Otabek would hold firm and wait to have sex later.

Kissing his Yuri makes him feel capable, inspired, two people swept up and in love and unable to keep their hands off one another. The feeling is mutual, and equal, and they stand together and tread into the awkward and the unknown: love and lust and passion.

Kissing this Yuri makes him feel powerless, helpless, and utterly wrapped around the other man’s finger. Otabek’s movements are sure to wrinkle his suit, but there isn’t anything he could care less about. In an instant he’s moved from kneeling between Yuri’s legs to pushing him down onto the bed. Yuri makes it impossible for him to keep a shred of coherence in his mind. Before he can stop to think about what it is that he’s really doing, he’s rutting up against Yuri’s thigh, both of them fully clothed.

In a brief, but fleeting moment of clarity, he works his hands up underneath the dress and indulges himself in the soft flesh of Yuri’s ass. Yuri kisses him this time. It’s harsh and demanding, and he punctuates it by capturing Otabek’s mouth between his teeth and biting down. “Baby,” Yuri’s voice is dark and husky. He cups Otabek’s stiff cock between his hands and fondles him lightly. “I want to go on our date. Since you got me all dressed up.”

Being with this Yuri makes him feel scraped raw and exposed, feeble and defenseless. Otabek can’t shake the idea of playing the piano for Yuri with mussed hair and torn stockings. But Otabek can’t say no to Yuri.

As soon as the outburst began, it ends. Otabek pulls a pair of nude heels from a two toned Louis Vuitton shoe box. Dutifully he kneels back at Yuri’s feet, and makes sure to strap the shoes neatly at his ankles.

* * *

Yuri might have felt a tinge of guilt a few hours ago when he saw all the things that Otabek hand planned for his date with other Yuri, the clothes, the meal, the sheet music carefully selected from one of the many portfolios containing dozens of pieces.

An hour and a half into his date with his suede jacket wearing Otabek, that feeling has dissipated completely. Cause honestly? This is just fucking perfect.

Otabek had taken the highway out toward the Kolsai lakes. Yuri directed him to his and Otabek’s favorite spot, a smaller lake about ten kilometers further away from all the touristy shit. It’s a quiet spot mostly occupied by men who want to go fishing and drink themselves into a stupor in solitude. Except today it’s damn near vacant.

“The water matches your eyes,” Otabek notes when they’ve parked the Ducati. Yuri leads him by the hand to their spot. A little cove just past a huge fallen tree. Yuri can feel thick callouses on this Otabek’s hands. There are small little cuts and nicks and uneven scabs on his hands too from hours of manual labor.

“I lubed up my asshole when I took a bath.”

The look on Otabek’s face is fucking priceless. His eyes go wide, but he clenches his jaw tight like he’s not quite sue to make of the statement. Yuri can see the muscles clench and unclench in his jaw. Can feel Otabek’s hand tighten around his own. “Seriously?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

“Trust me. It’s good.”

“Beka, it smells like feet.”

Otabek acts as if he doesn’t hear Yuri’s complaint. He simply takes his own fork, and procures for Yuri a generous bite of black truffle risotto. If he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to eat it. He can skip straight to dessert. But he has to try it. “It will taste better if I feed it to you.”

At that, Yuri opens his mouth and accepts the risotto. He chews quickly, swallows too soon, and takes a large gulp of wine so that he doesn’t choke. Some things do not change across universes. “It smells like feet, but it’s actually not bad.”

Otabek can feel a smile tug at his mouth. It feels good to do these kinds of things for Yuri. He readies another forkful, ready to feed Yuri as long as he will indulge him.

Instead Yuri grabs his own fork and start shoveling in risotto.

“Do you have any ranch?” Yuri says with risotto still in his mouth. “For my salad and shit,” Yuri gestures to the dark green mixture of kale, arugula, and fennel on his plate. He also points at the roasted brussels sprouts. Otabek tries to hide his horror and disdain.

“I don’t think so?”

* * *

 

“Yuri,” Otabek murmurs into his neck. “We’re outside remember, you need to be quiet.” Otabek doesn’t wait for a response, he goes back to working a large purple mark on Yuri’s neck. He alternates between nipping at Yuri’s earlobe with his teeth, and soft probes into his ear with his tongue. It leaves Yuri mewling against Otabek’s suede clad shoulder.

Easier said than fucking done. Otabek’s got two fingers buried in his ass, scissoring him open. His Otabek loves to work him open slowly, so that Yuri’s so turned on he’s almost ready to come as soon as Otabek pushes inside with his deliciously thick cock. This Otabek immediately plunged his fingers inside, testing his earlier work after his bath. He still takes his goddamn time, just like his Otabek.

Otabek temporarily remedies the situation by kissing him. Yuri can feel the rough sandpaper beginning of Otabek’s stubble and the feeling against his skin goes straight to his cock. Yuri fucking loves the rough feeling of unshaven skin against his thighs in the morning, seconds before his Otabek takes his cock into is mouth. He loves the feeling now, in broad daylight, with other Otabek’s fingers deep inside.

“Easier said than done,” and at that Otabek rotates his wrist just so, and hits his prostate directly. It makes Yuri take two large fistfulls of suede and swear into Otabek’s chest.

“God fucking damn it,” Yuri’s voice is almost as shaky as his knees. This Otabek is bulkier, more muscular than his own. He relies on him to hold him up against the stone bluff that looks out on the lake. “I don’t need all this goddamn foreplay. I’m ready now Ah-” Yuri bites his lip but he can’t stifle the moan that leaks out.

“If you can’t be quiet, you should have something in your mouth. So you don’t make a sound.”

Otabek extracts his fingers and undoes his belt. Yuri knows exactly what comes next, and it makes his mouth water. He drops to his knees and takes Otabek into his mouth greedily, as far down as he can go, which isn’t all the way. Yuri gags against his cock.

“Is that the best you can do Yura?” Otabek’s calloused hands are rough against his jawline. His expression is filled with the same kind of playful mysteriousness that made him fall for his own Otabek. Whether he’s getting onto the back of a stranger's bike in Barcelona, or on his knees in a very public space in Almaty, it’s the kind of look that makes Yuri act very, very stupid. In an instant Yuri relaxes his jaw and lets Otabek slide down his throat so far that his lips rest against the soft skin of his sac.

All sorts of unsexy things happen to your body when you deepthroat. Your face gets all flushed, and small pinprick tears form at the corner of his eyes. And swear to god his nose starts running if he’s not careful. If he doesn’t make himself come up for air. Which his how he knows that this Otabek must be some kind of goddamn liar.

The way he tugs at his hair and says, “You’re so beautiful Yuri.” And, “You look so good like this.” He almost spits out his cock in surprise when he says unashamedly, “I could fall in love with you.”

* * *

 

“Play another one!” Yuri clasps his hands together with glee. His body is warm and soft against Otabek’s on the piano bench. “Please, Otabek. You’re so talented.”

“I thought you wanted to show me something?” But he’s already rifling through the sheet music trying to find something romantic for Yuri.

“Well I do, but this is fine. This kind of music isn’t even that bad when you’re playing.”

“Not even that bad huh?” Otabek lets his knee knock playfully against Yuri’s. “This is canon in D. It’s a wedding march.”

“Practicing for the big day huh?”

Otabek’s face flushes hot red, and he messes up the first few notes of the piece.

* * *

 

“Please?” Otabek’s more than made up for all the sweet nothings. Made it distinctively clear that although they both can apparently spew garbage from their mouths about love and romance, this Otabek puts his Otabek’s teasing ability to shame. “I fucking want you so bad,” he makes sure to whisper, lest he risk Otabek shoving his cock back into his mouth once more under the guise of keeping him quiet.

“I’ll have plenty of chances to fuck you tonight.”

“But don’t you want just me. No sharing?” Yuri knows from last time, being stuck in between two possessive Otabeks and begging for mercy just how to get under his partner's skin.

“Want him to watch.” Otabek strokes himself in long lazy strokes that signify he can wait all night to come if needed.  
  
“My Beka?”

“Hm.” Otabek responds. “You can touch yourself though.”

Yuri cannot fucking believe that he lubed himself up and blew this asshole out in the goddamn open for not even so much a quick fuck. Yet and still, his hands drift to his cock. He mouths at Otabek’s desparate. This Otabek is so good at making him feel grateful for whatever shred of attention he’s willing to give.

“Want you on my cock,” Otabek grunts. “Yuri sitting on my face.” At that, Otabak’s coming in hot spurts down Yuri’s throat. Yuri’s coming into his hand.

* * *

 

“So wait, you’re like a freaking genius. Why aren’t you in school?”

Otabek furrows his brow in consideration. He’s never really thought about it in great detail before. “I can go to school any time. I only have maybe five, or six more years of skating?”

After he grew tired of playing, he and Yuri danced. He was surprised to find that Yuri was quite good at it, and accepted his lead immediately. He stepped gracefully through a waltz, as well as a simple tango. The entire time, Yuri’s lipstick covered lips called out to him, and begged to be kissed until they were bare and bruised.

After the record ended, they’d wandered outside. Otabek found them a nice seat in the garden, a long bench swing that was suspended on a large wooden frame. The frame was wrapped in ivy and morning glories, and all sorts of beautiful vines that could kill other plants if the vines wound too tightly.

“I’m in school right now. It fucking blows.”

“What do you study?”

“Undeclared.” Yuri cuddles up into him.

Otabek wraps an arm around his middle, as if this were one of mother’s many fancy parties, and they’d simply stolen away for a moment alone together. His body is warm, and Otabek feels something heavy in his chest. It’s not the nervousness before they came, nor is it the same as the raw want that he experienced when they were getting ready. It’s something far more complex. It tugs at his conscious and makes him miss his Yuri. It scare him, more than interdimensional travel and multiple universes ever could.

“I’m taking a lot of exercise science classes. I had to drop my human biology class because my scores weren’t good. I don’t know if I’m good enough to get into the nursing college.”

“Hm,” Otabek adds just show that he’s listening. That he hasn’t nodded off even though Yuri’s tracing his undercut with his long nails.

“I don’t even know if I wanna do any of that. I can’t go out and play pool til three, four a.m. and then put on my little nurse's uniform and draw blood or whatever.”

“You shouldn’t waste time on something you’re not passionate about,” Otabek traces patterns in the tafeta on Yuri’s hips and his stomach.

“That’s funny,” Yuri says in a dry tone. “I’m pretty sure I’m only going because I think Otabek wants me to.”

“He wants what is best for you.” Otabek says this earnestly because he does not know the truth, but he feels that this is correct. “I want the best for you.”

Yuri turns so that his chest is pressed to Otabek’s. The positioning is awkward such that he’s in a half kneel half seated position. Yuri’s always used kisses to distract Otabek from some looming issue or matter at hand. Yuri closes his eyes, leans in, and Otabek feels the faint tickle of Yuri's breath against his lips. Otabek knows that he's being distracted.

* * *

 

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Yuri’s got Otabek’s suede jacket draped over his shoulders. They walk up and down the bank of the lake. Yuri’s looking for hawk feathers, or pieces of driftwood twisted into neat shapes, or sparkling rocks and geodes. The kind of shit that Otabek just likes to have around on his desk collecting dust.

“Hm?” Otabek squeezes his hand in his at the statement. “Nothing,” he responds a little too quickly for it to actually be nothing.

“You’re awfully fucking quiet. I mean more quiet than usual,” Yuri supplies. “Can’t talk without your dick in someone’s mouth?”

“That’s not it.”

The sun is going down now and it mirrors across the water in shining ripples of gold and pink and burning orange. Grandpa always said that where fire and water met like this, the living and the dead intertwined, if not just for a moment. He wonders if it applies to interdimensional travelers too.

In the distance he can hear all sorts of naturey shit. Bullfrogs croaking, and cicadas, and all the kinds of low and constant noises that annoy the shit out of him, but Otabek finds oddly comforting.

“Wondering what they’re up to?”

“Hm.”

Yuri steers them to a low embankment wall that has been eroded away so that it’s at hip height. He sits, and gestures for Otabek to do the same. “Miss him?”

Otabek breaks eye contact with him. As if he’s embarrassed to tell the truth.

“I miss him.” Yuri confesses. “ I kind of wish they were here. They’d like it.”

“I agree.” Otabek adds, “I haven’t been on a first date in a long time either. Maybe ever. I can’t say Yuri and I had a definitive first date.”

“I know what you mean.” Yuri laughs. “Does training together count? Does getting coffee the morning after I told Otabek how I felt count? I don’t fucking know.”

It goes quiet between them for a long time. Yuri finds a few hawk feathers. Otabek skips stones out onto the lake. “Oh!” Otabek says, and it’s been so long since either spoke, Yuri jumps with a start. “Sorry.”

Yuri waves his hand dismissively. The silences are comfortable, and getting pulled out is often jarring.

“Check the interior pocket? I made you something?”

Yuri digs into the interior pocket of the jacket and extracts a thick copper bangle. It’s seamless, and polished until he can damn near see his reflection in the middle. “For me?”

“Yeah,” Otabek takes it from his hands and slips the cuff over his wrist. It clashes beautifully with the suede jacket and his pale blue shirt, but Yuri can’t take his eyes off of it for a moment.

“You made this?” Yuri asks again in disbelief.

“Yeah. I made Yuri a big necklace. All sorts of individually cut pieces. A bracelet...I found instructions online for making a band out of a silver dollar. I’m going to try that next.”

“I’ve seen those on pinterest.” Yuri responds. He doesn’t say that he think that they’re tacky as fuck. “Wedding bands.”

Otabek blushes when he says it, but doesn’t flat out refute it.

* * *

 

“Take me to your bedroom,” Yuri husks into his ear. They’ve watched the sun go down together and watched how the sun tinged everything a dusty gold from the date trees, to the apple trees, to the rose bushes out in the garden. “Not the room for all of us later. Your room.”

What can Otabek do, other than comply?

He stops in the guest bedroom for lube. Yuri’s draped over his neck like collar, licking and sucking his neck and the lobe of his ears and calling him, “ba-be,” the whole time in thick syllables that threaten to drive him mad.

He feels stupid for a moment, leading Yuri into his childhood bedroom which is filled with model airplanes, and crystals, and polished rocks, but Yuri doesn’t seem to care. He seems more interested in loosening his tie, and gaining access to as much of Otabek’s body as possible.

Otabek poured every ounce of smoothness and charm into getting Yuri dressed. As such his attempts to get Yuri out of the dress are awkward and rushed. His hands shake, as he tries to nudge the zipper down. He accidentally gets Yuri’s hair caught, and feels the dreadful churning sensation of embarrassment in his stomach when he does.

“It’s fine, look.” Yuri grabs the strands of his hair and works them out of the zipper.

It’s Yuri’s turn for charm and skill and guile. Once Otabek’s tie is loosened he unbuttons his shirt, and indulges himself in the expanse of Otabek’s chest. Runs his fingertips and his nails across his stomach in a way that makes him shiver. Yuri undoes his pants, and guides him to the bed. “Lube?”

Otabek fumbles for the bottle on the night stand. “Let me-”

Yuri places his index finger over Otabek’s mouth effectively silencing him. “No.” Yuri says firmly. “I’m doing this for you.”

Yuri has to understand from their last time together that he loves foreplay. He loves giving pleasure. He loves seeing Yuri squirm and that love is transfered over to this Yuri automatically.

Yuri twists a loose fist around his cock spreading lube down his length. Then, Yuri straddles him. The nylon stockings were left in place. Otabek can feel how they scratch against his skin.

Yuri kisses him as he sinks down on top of him. Otabek knows for a fact that he lets out several breathy little moans, but Yuri drinks them all down like wine before he can even hear the sound of his own voice.

Otabek remembers Yuri hiding the bottle of lube under his arm as he went into the shower. Otabek wonders what they’re doing right now; he wonders if this Yuri did the same thing in preparation for tonight.

Yuri feels like satin, not just his lips and his skin, and the soft edges of his body, but even on the inside too. Yuri rocks his hips against Otabek in slow circles and then picks up the pace so that he’s bouncing on Otabek’s cock.

“I think I’m falling for you.” Otabek breathes into his ear. He sits up and pushes them over so that Yuri’s on his back and he can pound into him as hard as he wants. Yuri had asked to do this for him, but Otabek wants. Not just this Yuri, but to be selfish and take. He doesn’t last long, and all too soon he’s spilling deep inside of Yuri, and Yuri’s coming on his stomach.

“I think I already fell.” Yuri says when they finally part.

* * *

“Look I’m just gonna text them, and they can join us when they want.” Yuri says as he thumbs through his key ring and extracts the key to the front door. He felt like he medaled or something crazy when Otabek’s mother handed him the key.

“Sounds good.”

“They have a billiards table. Let’s play.”

Yuri watches in rapt fascination as Otabek selects a cue for him, racks the balls, and gives him what he promises to be a “good clean break.”

“Do you even know how much this table cost?” Otabek asks as he lines up the cue on a bridge.

Yuri shakes his head no. “Probably what I make in a year.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Take a shot.” Otabek insists.

Yuri shakes his head no again. “Next round. I wanna see what you do and how you do it.”

Otabek walks around the table like a cat stalking his prey. He circles back to the short end of the table, aims for the nine ball and takes the shot. It bounces off the seven and he sinks three balls. One into each of the corner pockets, and another into the side. Yuri watches him repeat this a few more times, and each time he’s amazed at the grace and fluidity in his movements despite the obvious tension in his body.

Yuri knows that feeling of amazement well. He sees it in his own Otabek so often.

Yuri first hears the stairs creep. Then the door slides open. His eyes light up when his Otabek and other Yuri walk into the door. His hair is disheveled. He’s not wearing the dress Otabek selected for him, but instead a pair of well worn, pale pink flannel pajamas. He must’ve brought them from home.

“Oh my fucking god Beka look at this table? Can you even believe you’re playing on this table?” Other Yuri pushes past him and joins his Otabek at the table. They kiss briefly, and then Yuri’s grabbing a cue off the wall.

Yuri drifts into his Otabek’s arms. Together they watch the pair clear the table multiple times, as if they’d never stepped out at all.

“Hey,” Yuri says softly to his Otabek.

“Hey.” Otabek responds as if he’s equally lost. “Have fun?”

“Yeah,” Yuri admits. “Glad to be back though.

Yuri can feel Otabek’s grip tighten around him. There’s a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “Glad you’re back too. He’s nice, but you’re home.”

“I so get what you mean Beka.” He doesn’t even fight the sappiness.

“Okay, stop being fucking sappy,” Pink Yuri interjects. “You were only gone for a few hours. You’re just upset you didn’t get cock apparently.”

Yuri can feel his eyebrows migrate into his hairline. Other Otabek told him about that already?

“So we’re gonna play a little game,” other Yuri says in a matter of fact tone. “Mixed doubles. It’s how we figure out who fucks who first when we all go upstairs.”

“I feel like this is rigged,” his Otabek respond.

“I feel like we all win either way,” Suede Otabek supplies.

“Yuris versus Otabeks,” other Yuri supplies. He grabs Yuri by the waist and plants a wet kiss to his cheek.

Other Otabek breaks. As if to confirm Otabek’s statement, other Yuri lets him shoot first. He scratches immediately.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr. I'm boxwineconfession over there.


	4. Theirs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the self-cest.
> 
> Yuri pov/ his Yuri/blue lipstick Yuri = FAWL Yuri  
> Otabek pov/his Otabek/Leather jacket Otabek = Fawl Otabek
> 
> Other Yuri/Pink lipstick Yuri = HBB Yuri  
> Other Otabek/Suede Jacket Otabek = HBB Otabek
> 
> The scenes for this chapter go: YurixYuri, YurixOtabekxYurixOtabek, and OtabekxHBB YurixOtabek

Yuri’s not exactly sure how it happens, but in a blur, other Yuri runs two hundred balls. Then they’re all walking upstairs to the bedroom, and then other Yuri asks Yuri what he wants.

In that moment, Yuri can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel the blood surging through his ears. He can have any combination of the four of them. Whatever he wants, with very few boundaries or limitations. Yuri watched the way that other Yuri’s flannel pajama top hung low on his chest when he took shots. He watched the round soft flesh of his ass move when he stomped around the table and called shots over his shoulder.

Other Yuri told him in a hushed whisper that he rode Otabek in the upstairs bedroom. He knows that other Yuri is worked open and ready. He knows it’s the best way to make both Otabeks burn hot. “You,” He snakes his hands around other Yuri’s waist. “Wanna do you while they watch.”

Other Yuri kisses him. It’s breathy and interrupted by mutual giggles pressed against soft white skin. They can’t help it. It’s too good to watch both Otabeks to pick their jaws up off of the floor. “Let’s go,” other Yuri slaps his ass playfully.

“I heard he’s a really good top.” Other Yuri says as Yuri slides his pajama bottoms down. He’s looking at both Otabeks sweetly. “Really intense. Really bossy.” Yuri already knows that his Otabek is blushing intensely.

Yuri interrupts Yuri with a kiss. Other Yuri is so good at it, it’s criminal. The way he sucks and bites and mixes just enough pain with soft satiny pleasure makes his head foggy. Makes it hard to think about what needs to happen next.

“How do you want me babe?”

“Well first I wanna,” Yuri shoots a furtive glance over at both Otabeks, who are awkwardly lingering in the doorway watching them fool around on the pushed together beds. Yuri wants to tell them to stop lingering in the fucking doorway like weirdos, but he also knows they can’t be trusted to play nice. Yuri whispers something filthy into Yuri’s ear that he knows will set both Otabeks off and make them sweat. “So they can see how fucking lucky I am.”

“You mean, how lucky I am. Right babe?”

Yuri kisses Yuri again. He’d never describe this other version of himself as sweet or soft. He’s heard other Otabek talk about numerous fistfights, and knife fights, and broken beer bottles, and punctured tires outside of dive bars. However, there’s some sort of doting kindness in his touch. There is a not so rough around the edges demeanor that other Yuri seems to take with him, and only with him. He craves that attention. Soft touches to the arm, and little coos of praise, “babe, and bay-be.” They play with one another's cocks while other Yuri showers him in praise and too soft whispers of filthy things to come.

“Turn over,” Yuri says tapping lightly on his hip. Other Yuri obeys immediately.

It’s obvious that other Yuri’s hole has been used. It doesn't phase Yuri so much. Other Yuri said that he jumped onto Otabek right away. His Otabek didn’t get the chance to play with his hole until he he was stretched wide and begging, which is what Otabek likes to do more than anything.

Yuri doesn’t waste any goddamn time. He grabs other Yuri’s ass and plunges his tongue inside.

The twin gasps from the other side of the room are sharp and shoot straight to Yuri’s cock.

“Like what you see?” Other Yuri teases. Other Yuri tastes like lube. He wonders if Otabek came inside of him earlier. He wonders if he’ll be able to taste Otabek’s come. He wonder if he’ll be able to feel Otabek’s come spill out of Pink Yuri when he thrusts inside.

Yuri’s vivid fantasies are interrupted when he feels twin dips on the bed. There’s a hand on other Yuri’s ass and another on his own thigh and, “Can you fucking assholes back off? We fucking won. You have to let us fuck!” Yuri shoots a glare, first at other Otabek who is pawing at his thighs, and then at his Otabek, who is trying to steal kisses from other Yuri.

They both have the gall to shoot him injured looks. It’s almost offensive, because Yuri knows that they’re going to get their way later on.

Yuri, determined to enjoy this moment, continues to lap at other Yuri’s hole. Yuri stretches him out with his tongue and traces his rim in long sweeping motions that leave the other man keening for his attention. “Babe, you’re so good at this.” Followed by a direct question to his Otabek, “does he do this for you? Oh look Beka you’re-” Other Yuri interrupts himself when Yuri drags his teeth lightly against the sensitive skin. “Blushing,”

Yuri catches a whisper between the other three. It’s soft and barely audible, but meant for all to hear, “of course he does.”

Yuri doesn’t like the fact that other Yuri dotes on the Otabeks. This is about him. This is about them. Yuri wants to absorb all of that rough femininity and confidence and hold onto it for as long as he can.

“You taste really good,” Yuri confesses as he hooks a finger inside. Other Yuri is soft, and wet, and impossibly tight considering how he’d just sunk down on Otabek’s cock not too long ago. “You feel really good.”  
Yuri tries to think of all the things that Otabek does for him, and all the things that Otabek likes. Yuri drags his tongue across Pink Yuri’s balls, over his perineum, and back to his stretched hole. Yuri works another finger inside.

Other Yuri doesn’t respond, so much as he whimpers and tenses against his attention. There’s the feeling of jostling movements on the bed, and the lips touching against lips. Yuri pulls away to see that other Otabek is kissing Yuri. Yuri feels as if he’s intruded upon something very private and very intimate, despite the fact that he’s got two fingers buried in other Yuri’s ass.

Suddenly his Otabek is pressed into his space. His Otabek is kissing him at an uncharacteristically bruising pace. His Otabek kneads his ass and the base of his spine. Yuri can tell where this is going.

“Seriously back the fuck off,” and at that Yuri’s extracting his fingers, holding firm on to other Yuri’s hips, and pulling his hair lightly so that he leans back into Yuri. He starts the kiss slow and gentle, and then builds to something needy and demanding, it’s just the way Otabek taught him. Yuri tightens his grasp onto other Yuri’s hair and pulls. Hard.

“Yu-ri!” The syllables are broken and needy.

Simultaneously, Yuri ruts his cock against the cleft of other Yuri’s ass. Everything is wet, and hot and it only takes a few strokes for Yuri to find just where he needed to be. He pushes in slowly, and everyone in the room groans when he’s finally inside. “He’s fucking mine.”

“Yuri,” other Yuri coos. “You do feel really good, ah-”

Yuri swallows up the moan before either of the other two greedy assholes can. When they part, he locks eyes with a very hungry looking other Otabek. “You’re the only one who hasn’t fucked him. Jealous?”

“I could just fuck you right now,” he responds drly. “I’d rather fuck you right now.” Oh right, cause due to some fucked up little waiting game, other Otabek’s the only one that hasn’t gotten to fuck yet. Poor bastard.

“I want him,” his Otabek says firmly. His pants are gone and he sits on the bed, facing him and other Yuri, stroking his cock leisurely, as if he’s simply waiting for Yuri to come back to the bed with lube.

“Why don’t you stop bickering,” other Yuri says, “and enjoy the show?”

Other Yuri is much more indulgent with the Otabeks than he is. He strokes other Otabek’s cock. He whimpers around his Otabek’s cock while Yuri pounds into him. Not enough to bring either of them to orgasm, but enough to intensify the Otabeks white hot lusty gaze on both of them.

Yuri’s eyes flutter shut and he’s swallowed alive by feeling of other Yuri clenching around him. The four of them moaning together sounds like a loud and wild mess of sounds. Other Yuri mewls around his Otabek’s cock. The Otabeks make rough grunting noises, and Yuri swears and tries to stave off his impending orgasm.

There’s a rustle of movement on the bed, and then in his ear, “Yuri.” Other Otabek’s voice is unsteady and needy. “Please?” but Yuri can feel other Otabek’s cock hard and needy press against his entrance.

Other Yuri pulls off of his Otabek’s cock with a wet pop. Other Yuri throws them both a sultry silken look over his shoulder. “Be gentle with him, Beka. I’m not done with him yet.”

Yuri is already worked open from before. All it takes is a little more lube and a little more patience for other Otabek to slide in easily. Other Otabek inhales sharply into his neck. Yuri responds with a cracked, almost pained, “fuck.”

Yuri doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with his goddamn body. Having other Otabek inside of him while he’s balls deep in other Yuri feels beyond fucking amazing. But every twitch of other Otabek’s cock, every twitch of other Yuri’s hole pulls him in one direction and then the other. The sensation can only be described as something that goes beyond overstimulation. It’s something raw, something dangerous, and something all consuming.

“Relax, Yura.” Yuri opens his eyes, and is met with his Otabek, looking at him intently. His eyes are half lidded with pleasure. Of course other Yuri’s gone back to sucking him off. Somehow, Otabek’s expression maintains a look of concern and level headedness that no other man could possess while they were getting blown.

Like magic, Yuri feels the tension drain away from his body. First, he relaxes his shoulder. Then, he loosens his bruising grasp on other Yuri’s ass. Then, other Otabek starts to move slowly, indicating that he’s relaxed enough too.

Finding a rhythm between the four of them is difficult. Moans and grunts are accented by the sound of skin slapping against skin Other Yuri makes obscene slurping noises against his Otabek’s cock. The melody is off key, but the tempo and the sound is delightful. Yuri doesn’t understand where his breathy moans end and other Yuri’s begin. Through pure determination and greed for pleasure, they manage to find a rhythm.

Yuri can feel other Yuri tighten around him. Yuri can feel his balls tighten and his body tense, and he knows that he’s coming soon. He has no desire to stop it. Knows that he can get hard again, and knows that there is the expectation that he will get hard again. Still, he doesn’t look forward to having to fight the Otabeks for time with other Yuri. He doesn’t understand how someone that’s so hard can be so soft. It’s a quality that the other three are addicted to.

Other Yuri throws him a glance over his shoulder. His hair falls just right, and he blinks his wide green glass eyes at him. “Coming, kitten?”

Yuri spills into other Yuri’s ass, and he fucking tries to marvel at the way other Yuri’s hole looks stretched, and sloppy with his come, and his Otabek’s come too, but he fucking cant, because as soon as he spills, other Otabek is pounding him so hard and so fast that all he can do is hold onto other Yuri’s hips and hope that his spent cock is enough.

Yuri wants to jerk other Yuri off. He wants to watch his Otabek come. Instead, other Otabek tilts his head back, and Yuri is kissed by rough chapped lips. Despite the other pair of people in the room, and despite the fact that he’s still inside other Yuri, the world is reduced to little more than other Otabek coming deep inside of his ass, and a needy hold around his neck that refuses to let go. There’s the soft whisper of, “я люблю тебя” into his ear. The syllables are shaky, and the words are grossly mispronounced, but the sound of other Otabek trying to learn his language in order to prove himself is unmistakable. Yuri wants to respond, “I love you too,” but it dries on his tongue when he feels his own Otabek’s gaze upon him.

When other Otabek finally pulls out, Yuri winces. He’s nowhere near ready for more sex, but feeling empty after so much feels wrong. A familiar mouth brushes against his. His Otabek. Yuri clings to him and allows himself to be held. Then, lipstick covered lips. Somehow, in the middle of it all, other Yuri got a chance to reapply.

“I love you,” Yuri mumbles it into his Otabek’s chest, but intends it for everyone.

“We love you too,” Other Yuri responds.

* * *

“So Plisetsky just gets away with whatever it is that he wants because he’s cute,” his Otabek muses.

Eating in bed is a peeve of Otabek’s. Apparently it’s a peeve of Otabek’s regardless of the universe.

“Absolutely,” other Otabek grunts.

“You didn’t fucking feed me.” Yuri says in between wolfish bites of leftovers he’s skimmed from the kitchen. Risotto, and roasted vegetables, and all kinds of good shit that he really hopes other Yuri appreciates.

Other Otabek suddenly seems to remember this little bit of information, and tries to steal the fork from Yuri’s hand and get a bite of food.

“No way,” Yuri snaps. “You don’t get to bitch at me for eating in bed, and then steal my food.”

Otabek and Otabek are both propped up against the headboard of the beds. They aren’t exactly cuddling per-se, but they are closer than he’s ever seen them together. His Otabek has pulled his boxers back on. Other Otabek is unapologetically nude. His flaccid cock rests against his thigh, and it makes Yuri drool.

“Don’t let your shoulders touch,” other Yuri walks back into the room. This time he’s wearing a hot pink nightie. He changes clothes more often than a lounge singer diva. He’s got a large piece of crusty bread in one hand, and a piece of cheese in the other. He eats as if he were starved. “Or we’ll think that you’re homos.”

“Narcissistic homos,” Yuri adds for good measure.

“Narcissistic homos,” other Yuri repeats through mouthfuls of bread.

Otabek responds by closing the distance between himself and Suede Otabek. He rests his head on the other man’s shoulder. “You should get something to eat if you’re hungry” his Otabek says softly to his counterpart. .

The room goes silent after that. Yuri and Yuri climb back into bed, and they fall naturally into place. Yuri rests on his back with other Yuri’s head resting in his lap. Yuri lazily threads his fingers into the other man’s long blonde hair.

Other Yuri rests in his Otabek’s lap. Otabek rubs his toes and the balls of his feet until other Yuri is all but moaning in satisfaction.

“You let Yuri fuck you?” Suede Otabek speaks and everyone in the room perks up.

“Often.”

“You like it?”

His Otabek’s face pulls into a cocky grin. It usually infuriates and arouses Yuri to no end when he’s on the receiving end of that grin. Now it makes him giddy with delight. “Yuri is really good.”

“Can confirm,” other Yuri raises his hand in the air to testify. “You gonna let Yuri fuck you?” Other Yuri’s acrylic nails scratch lightly at Yuri’s thigh. It’s no fucking fair how other Yuri can shoot an electric fucking thrill down his spine just by touching him.

As if on cue, Yuri spills a large mouthful of rice down his shirt.

“Sexy Plisetsky,” other Otabek has that dark bit of amusement in his voice. The kind that revs the bike faster to make him hold on. The kind that teases him with shallow thrusts of his cock. The kind that musses his hair when they get off the bike.

“Stop deflecting.” Yuri tries to dab as much risotto off of his shirt before ultimately peeling it off and throwing it aside. Can’t stain what you aren’t wearing. “You want me to fuck you?” He says with a mouth full of food.

But Yuri isn’t stupid. Other Yuri retracts his feet from his Otabek’s grasp and goes into the kitchen presumably for more fucking food. For a lack of anything else to do with his hands, his Otabek takes other Otabek’s hand into his own, and rubs the soft exposed flesh of his forearm. Yuri knows this gesture well. Whenever they’re watching television together or sitting quietly and reading. It’s a simple and reaffirming touch that speaks volumes.

Yuri could watch this strange combination of tenderness and tension all night. It’s not surprise when other Otabek admits finally, after a long time of silence, “Not particularly.”

* * *

Otabek would be tempted to say that it happens slowly. However, that’s not exactly the case. He can recall his suede clad counterpart’s hands upon him during their initial visit. His hands were rough and calloused. He knew just how hard to squeeze and how fast to go. He knew that he liked a little more pressure around the head of his cock, and Otabek knew how to repay this in kind.

Otabek will accept that it happens slowly in comparison. He doesn’t have the strange fascination with this other version of himself that Yuri has with his own counterpart. The magnetism that he feels for other Yuri is absent too.

Otabek made other Otabek a sandwich, as the Yuri’s had cleared away the rest of the leftovers. He brought it to other Otabek in bed, because that’s where the Yuri’s were, picking over food. Other Otabek didn’t accept the plate right away. Instead, he found his clothes, took the food, and walked back into the kitchen..

Otabek can’t quite place why, he decided his counterpart into the kitchen. There were two barely dressed Yuri’s available for cuddling.

Otabek stood with Otabek at the granite countertops.

“We got ants in bed once,” other Otabek says simply.

Otabek looks at him in horror. He loves Yuri, and up to that point he thought he loved him unconditionally. The mere thought makes his stomach drop in horror. Then, he remembers when Yuri stayed here with him last summer after his operation, “he spilled diet orange soda on my white bedspread.”

Other Otabek finishes eating quietly. Washes the fine bone china plate off in the sink, dries it sloppily on his shirt when he cannot find a towel, and then turns to him. His brows are furrowed and his body is thick with tension. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Hm,” Otabek agrees.

“I don’t like being indoors for too long.”

“Hm,” Otabek responds again.

“I’m going out to smoke.”

When Otabek doesn’t follow him automatically, Suede Otabek backtracks, laces his hand in his, and pulls him out the side door.

Other Otabek immediately steers him towards Yusef’s patio furniture. It’s an appropriate place after all. He keeps an ashtray there. “There’s a better spot,” and with their hands still interlinked, Otabek leads them to the date tree and the marble bench.

The night air is crisp, and whips to the back of his head through his nose, and his ears, and his mouth. The leaves blow the wrong way against the wind indicating that it just might rain soon. The scent of smoke is acrid, but right now with the scent of the earth and the warmth of the other man beside him, it’s almost comforting.

Otabek watches the other man hollow his cheeks slightly, taking a long drag of the cigarette. The cherry takes down the paper like sharp nails against skin. “I’m not ready,” other Otabek says finally. His voice is firm but Otabek can detect the tinge of anxiety in his voice.

Otabek bites his lip. Squeezes hard on the other man’s hand. There is so much he wants to say: to other Otabek, and his Yuri and, and other Yuri. There are so many things that he hopes are in the hearts and the minds of everyone else.

In stark contrast to his prior statement, other Otabek tosses his cigarette butt. Otabek finally feels it. That strange kind of magic laden magnetism that pulls him towards other Yuri he now feels with other Otabek. He leans in, Other Otabek doesn’t pull away. His kiss is firm. He demands immediately, and deepens the kiss instantaneously. However it’s not overtly abrasive like it is when he handles either Yuri. Not gentle per se, but overtly cautious.

They part, albeit in a lightening quick gasp for air. Other Otabek’s mouth is on him again. He’s cupping his chin, and tilting his head just so that he can kiss him deeply, make him moan into the kiss. Diminish all of the anxiety and the uncertainty and make it explicitly clear that he wants this, maybe not right now. Maybe not anytime in the near future, but he wants it eventually, and he’ll wait until he’s ready

* * *

When they come back inside, his Yuri is asleep and sprawled out across half of the expansive bed. Other Yuri has left no more room for either of them on the other side. He’s curled around several pillows with one eye half open. It feels unfair when he returns to one side of the bed, and other Otabek returns to the other and they lay down miles apart from one another. 

* * *

Yuri wakes up to a raging erection pressed against his ass thanks to his Otabek, and another raging erection pressed against his thigh thanks to other Yuri. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little hard too. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want to fuck his Otabek in front of the other two. They didn’t seem to like to switch things around, which seemed so fucking boring.  However, he wanted Yuri to have the same kind of fun that he did with both Otabeks. Yuri does his best to vault himself  over the foot board of the bed and onto the floor with minimal noise.

* * *

 

Other Yuri rolls over onto his stomach, then to his side, then he opens his eyes in narrow little sleep filled squints. “Where’s my baby?”

Otabek scoots closer, and soon enough long acrylic nails are brushing against his bare chest. “I’m here,” he says softly.

Yuri runs his hand along his chest and his sides. He opens his eyes a little wider, and his mouth pulls into a plush and kissable pout. Other Yuri rocks up against his thigh, undeniably hard. “You’re nice enough, but I wanted-”

“He’ll be back.” Otabek assures him. “He’s making us food. Breakfast pirozhky.” Otabek returns other Yuri’s affections. A soft kiss to his forehead, and then his nose, and then finally to the mouth. The kiss is soft and sweet and barely there. “We planned it that way,” Otabek says as he moves to hover over Yuri. Keep kissing him on his chin, and his neck and his collarbones. A light little dusting of attention that will build the tension and desire slowly. This isn’t the kind of thing that is rushed through.

Other Yuri moans, “Beka,” but Otabek suspects it’s not him that he’s referring to. There’s a shift on the bed, and other Otabek is turning Yuri back onto his side. Other Otabek makes all sorts of wet little kissing noises against other Yuri’s spine, and his neck, and the soft place where neck meets shoulder.

“Otabek,” his name on other Otabek’s tongue is rough through the first syllable, and pained and questioning after the second as if the sound of his own name on his tongue is disturbing. “He’s been practicing. You should see,” but his tone contradicts his words, as if he sounds off put.

“Practice?” Otabek has already got his hand shoved under other Yuri’s nightgown. He plays with Yuri’s cock by grabbing it lightly and moving it side to side. Then, he touches at the tip and traces the underside with his finger.

Other Yuri locks eyes with him. His pupils are already blown wide with lust. “I have a toy at home.” The sharp click of the bottle of lube being opened on the other side of the bed interrupts. “He hates it.”

“I do.” Other Otabek confirms.

Otabek kisses Yuri’s chest, and his collarbones, and circles his nipples with his tongue.

“I let Otabek-Ah.” It’s clear that other Otabek has at least one finger inside. “Get inside of me first.” Yuri begins to rock back onto other Otabek’s fingers. Otabek has to readjust the featherlight movements of his hand against Yuri’s rapidly hardening cock. “Then, we use the toy.”

Otabek can’t stifle the moan that spills out of his mouth and against other Yuri’s collarbone.

Yuri tilts his chin upward and kisses him. Then, without letting go of his chin, he leans back and kisses other Otabek. Otabek will never tire of the way Yuri’s hair spills over the other man’s shoulders, or the way other Otabek’s neck and jaw muscles move under taut skin. Yuri pulls away, and turns to him. He’s seen that look before, albeit on his own Yuri’s face. It’s a blatant and unapologetic dare.

Otabek accepts it, and kisses other Otabek without hesitation. Other Otabek receives him, without hesitation. Kissing him makes him feel nervous. Like he’s done something wrong, but he’s about to get rewarded for it anyway.

Otabek tries to fit a finger inside other Yuri along with other Otabek’s. The position is awkward, and by now other Otabek has got three fingers worked inside. Otabek busies himself with other wonderful parts of Yuri’s body. He licks his nipples until they’re pebbled and firm. He touches his cock, and kisses down his flat stomach all the while feeling Otabek’s fingers work in along his own. Yuri feels so tight, he wonders how he’ll ever fit inside along with Otabek.

“Alright that’s enough you fucking saps,” other Yuri barks.

“You need to be worked open-”

“A dick will really help with that,” Other Yuri interrupts other Otabek. “So how should we do this?” Yuri sits up. His gaze drifts from Otabek, to Suede Otabek and back again. “Do you wanna be the one who gets to really pound me? Or the one who holds me close and tells me you love me, and that I’m doing a good job, and lies to me and tells me I feel tight?”

Yuri’s looking at him while he talks.

“Um,” Otabek busies himself with looking at the bedspread. How can he be expected to chose between those options?

“What do you want Yuri?” Other Otabek asks, but he already moves to stand on his knees on the bed, as if he already knows what it is that Yuri wants. The atmosphere of the room shifts. To Otabek, it feels as if the other two had discussed this, much like he and his Yuri had already discussed this.

Yuri doesn’t respond right away. He splays a wide hand across Otabek’s chest. “Lay back. LIke when I was riding you.”

Otabek’s mouth goes dry for a moment. His body feels like it’s been weighted down as he move into place.

Yuri puts lube on his cock with a few firm twists of his wrist, and a wolfish grin that lets Otabek know he’s about to be consumed whole. Yuri sinks down onto his cock slowly. He feels just as good and just as addictive now as he has every other chance he’s had to fuck him.

“Do you come right away first thing in the morning like this one? Yuri starts to rock slowly on his cock. He jerks his chin toward other Otabek as he talks.

“Not really, no.”

Other Otabek’s expression shifts from one of rapt fascination to pained indignation, as if despite everything that had transpired between the four of them, Yuri wasn’t supposed to disclose that little bit of information.

Yuri rocks back and forth on his cock, and Otabek finds his rhythm and thrusts in time with him. It’s hard to make good on his promise to not come so early, especially when he feels this good. The promise of what is to come, the promise of feeling other Otabek drag against his cock, is the only thing that keeps him grounded.

Other Otabek steps in behind Yuri. He holds Yuri still, and Otabek feels Yuri tighten around him. There’s awkward slip sliding motions alongside his cock, and he can easily discern that it’s other Otabek’s finger.

“Beka, seriously. I’m ready.”

Other Otabek’s gaze meets his over Yuri’s shoulder. Otabek sees uncertainty, and love, and an unrelenting desire to please buried within his expression. Otabek wonders what his counterpart sees when he looks into his eyes.

Other Otabek extracts his finger, and after that everything goes seamlessly. Otabek truly feels as if he were like one of those videos that Yuri puts on from time to time and lazily touch himself to.

Otabek spreads Yuri’s cheeks wide for other Otabek. Other Yuri all but lays down on top of Otabek’s chest. Other Otabek nudges his cock in slowly. Takes time to reapply lube multiple times. Otabek is deafened by the hisses and groans between the three of them. Grunts and half cries and a strange mixture of pleasure and pain that makes Otabek’s cock twitch.  
  
“Talk to me Yuri.” Other Otabek’s brow is beaded with sweat.   
  
“You’re both really fucking big.” Other Yuri is holding on to his neck and his shoulders for dear life, as if other Otabek is going to tear him away due to sheer strength and force alone.

“Are you okay?” Otabek gasps. No matter how hard they all try to stay still, let Yuri adjust, every movement, even from that of Yuri breathing against him, seems to manifest itself in the place where they’re alle joined.

“I am so fucking good,” Yuri says in a long drunken pur. “I’m ready.”

Every movement of their bodies feels like they’re a hair’s width away from all falling apart. It’s hard to find a rhythm without falling out. Ultimately, Otabek resigns himself to feeling the long torturous drag of other Otabek’s cock and the frantic twitches of Yuri’s hole around him.

“You’re doing really well.” He’s stretched so impossibly tight, and still feels just as addictive. The drag of Otabek’s cock against his is nothing but raw power and friction. Otabek loves every single aspect of it: being pinned underneath other Yuri, having other Otabek take control, feeling other Yuri’s cock pressed against his stomach.

“I wasn’t-ah- serious-ah- fuckface.” Yuri talks as if every syllable was pulled out from the deep recesses of his consciousness. As if speaking right now were beyond difficult.

“But Yuri, You are and-” Otabek sucks in a sharp breath. Other Otabek ruts up against him just right. Yuri lets out a groan that threatens to make him come. Yuri’s hair frames his face like a wedding veil, And Otabek doesn’t even consider if he should tell his boyfriend's’ doppelganger if he loves him. The words just tumble out, “I love you.”

“Fucking finally,” Yuri’s voice is playfully vitriolic in the way that only Yuri can be.

But it’s not other Yuri speaking.

The whole room seems to hang silent with tension for a moment. It had been clear that this wasn’t just about sex anymore, but Otabek feels like he crossed a line.

“We were sick of watching the two of you make eyes at each other,” his Yuri says.

“Hm,” other Otabek grunts in agreement.

Otabek cranes his head, only to see his Yuri posing in the doorway. His underwear is gone. He’s wearing one of his long sleeve shirts that bears the flag of Kazakhstan. His cock bobs as he walks into the room. It’s flush red with arousal implying that Yuri’s been listening, and possibly watching for a very long time.

That too makes him whimper in arousal.

His Yuri makes his way over to the bed. It dips under his weight. He moves into kiss each of them. It isn’t lost on him, the way their bodies all twitch and grind and move together when Yuri alternates between kissing them. His Yuri commands attention, and the three of thim gladly give it.

“So treat him like a lady. Cause I love him too,” he says with a rough grunt.

It’s clear that other Yuri wants his Yuri. He asked for him as soon as he woke. He worms a hand out from between the tangled mess of the three of them, and reaches for Yuri’s cock. “Feels-so-oh-good, babe.”

“I bet,” Yuri agrees. “I’m jealous. Not like fake jealous. Actual jealous.”

“Yuri,” other Otabek moves slightly to whisper into other Yuri’s ear. Otabek holds firmly onto Yuri to keep them all together.

“Oh that is a good idea,” and at that other Yuri’s ordering his Yuri to stand on his knees up by the headboard. “Let me suck you babe.”

But it’s clear the moment that his Yuri’s cock touches other Yuri’s lips that he’s near his limit. His face is flushed red, and he stutters and chokes on his Yuri’s cock. He twitches, and ruts with wild abandon, seemingly not caring if they all fall apart from their precarious joining, if only so that he can have more.

When they all come together like this, Otabek is constantly amazed at how they all fit together. He’s hypnotized by the sounds that they make together, which range from sensual moans to obscene bodily noises. Otabek is left breathless at the feeling of all of them coming. To his dismay, he comes deep inside other Yuri first. Next, other Yuri comes with a shout, and a jumbled mess of names. “Beka, Babe, Otabek.” Then, other Otabek comes with a grunt, one firm hand on other Yuri’s ass, and the other hand on Otabek’s hip. Finally, his Yuri comes onto other Yuri’s face. Seeing that display: twin smirks and a very satiated other Yuri. It’s enough to make him want to go for another round.

* * *

 

“Um,” other Yuri gestures to his empty juice glass and then locks eyes with Otabek. “It’s empty.” 

“Why didn’t you have him refil it when he,” Otabek gestures to other Otabek. “Got you more food?” 

“Who took all of your cocks?” Other Yuri’s said it no less than four times in the past half hour, and it always means that he gets exactly what he wants. 

“Get me some more too Beka,” his Yuri holds his glass out. 

“You didn’t do anything strenuous,” but Otabek’s already taking the juice glass. 

“I cooked asshole!” Yuri says in an incredulous tone.

On his way to the kitchen, Otabek furrows his brow and bites at his lower lip in pensive concentration. He has got to get them to stop eating in bed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left since this got out of hand. Let me know if this is confusing and you have suggestions for fixing it.


	5. Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the self-cest.
> 
> Yuri pov/ his Yuri/blue lipstick Yuri = FAWL Yuri  
> Otabek pov/his Otabek/Leather jacket Otabek = Fawl Otabek
> 
> Other Yuri/Pink lipstick Yuri = HBB Yuri  
> Other Otabek/Suede Jacket Otabek = HBB Otabek
> 
> The scenes for this chapter go: Yuri x HBB Otabek x Yuri and Otabek x Otabek

“Someone is gonna see the four of us and flip the fuck out.” Other Yuri goose steps awkwardly on his skates. It takes every ounce of Otabek’s energy to not burst out into deep and uncontrolled laughter. It’s really something else to see a version of Yuri that is so awkward on skates.

“We have the whole rink for training time. It’s fine. Trust us.” Yuri kneels at other Otabek’s feet. His brow is furrowed, and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to lace his partner’s skates. “If you had gone out there like that, you would’ve broken your goddamn ankles.”

“But it will be kind of romantic right?” Other Yuri laces his fingers into his.

“I think so,” Otabek agrees.

It’s a disaster from the very start. Other Yuri pulls him down almost as soon as his blades touch the ice. Otabek cannot remember the last time he fell on the ice when he wasn’t coming out of a spin or a jump. “Otabek, save me!” but he can’t if Yuri’s holding onto his hand and tugging downward.

“If you do that to me, I’m leaving you out in the middle of the rink,” Yuri warns other Otabek. Other Otabek nods firmly, as if he’s intent on not causing a scene. Yuri gets other Otabek out onto the ice. “Okay not flat on the blades. On the edge like,” Yuri skates a simple compulsory figure, and leaves other Otabek gripping against the rail.

“I’d rather just watch,” other Otabek huffs.

“No fucking way. I’ve played how many rounds of pool at this point?” Yuri growls back.

Yuri gets other Otabek going: right foot, left foot, right foot, just like in a beginners lesson.

Otabek gets other Yuri upright, for what good it does. He hangs onto Otabek’s arm, and seems content to be pushed and dragged around the rink at the expense of Otabek’s form. “Come on Yuri try.”

Simultaneously, other Otabek’s gotten over confidant. He’s glided back to a straight edged blade, and his free foot is sloppy. He lands on the ice and bounces across it with just a few strokes of his blades. Across the rink there’s a loud and angry mixture of Yuri and other Otabek cursing at each other and the ice.

The commotion makes other Yuri grab onto Otabek’s arm tighter.

“No!” other Yuri whines. “He killed Otabek look!”

“He’s not dead!” Yuri interjects.

“I think I threw out my back,” other Otabek whines in a tone that is pitiful and agonized. Otabek never thought he’d hear such things from his own voice.

“Come on old man, get up.” Yuri relentlessly tugs at other Otabek’s arms.

The four of them manage a few more laps together. Round, and a round, and a round in plain circles, the types that Otabek likes to take around the rink to clear his mind. 

* * *

“Look this is fun and all, but you both are pros.” Other Yuri relinquishes his grip on Otabek’s arm only to grab onto other Otabek and disastrously steer him to the rail. They both smash up against the glass. “Show us something good.”

“Pussies,” Yuri teases.

“Yuri,” Otabek interrupts. “We could show them the,” he raises his eyebrows and silently tells Yuri what moves exactly he wants to do. At this point, they have quite a pairs routine coordinated. It’s something that would be good for an expo skate. Two quads that aren’t too demanding, a death spiral, and a long step sequence. Yuri would never allow it, and Otabek doesn’t know how he feels about being so open with his affection. It’s fine that it’s something that the continue to do at the end of practice.

“Oh, yeah, I guess we could.” Yuri gives other Yuri a peck on the nose, and other Otabek a peck on the cheek. “Watch this.”

Yuri and Otabek glide together to the middle of the rink. The past few days have been wonderful, but Otabek is thankful for the opportunity do something together just the two of them. They skate long counter turns to opposite ends of the rink, then come together for a side by side came. They part, and do another counter, this time together into a synchronous quad Salchow.

His exit is shaky, but he manages to shift seamlessly into the next movements. Yuri skates in front of him and extends his hand behind him. Otabek grasps it, kisses his hand lightly, and rests it on his shoulder. Otabek keeps his hand on Yuri’s hip to account for the distance between them, but at this point it’s more for the warmth of Yuri’s body. The spiral is second nature by now.

His Yuri leans down, and back, and pulls hard against Otabek’s arms. Otabek guides him down into the spin with a strength and a confidence that is magnified on ice. They get a few rotations into the skin, and there’s loud vigorous clapping. He rotates Yuri so that he’s parallel with the ground, and there’s a sharp high pitched whistle accompanying the clapping.

Otabek pulls Yuri up seamlessly, just in time to see other Otabek press his fingers between his lips, and whistle.

* * *

“Otabek did hurt his back,” at least that’s how Yuri explains what he walks into the bedroom after his shower. The lights are dimmed, and other Yuri is flitting back and forth on either side of the bed lighting candles and stifling giggles. “So fucking romantic though.” Otabek immediately recognizes the large white pillar candles from his room upstairs.

Otabek sees the way the muted light makes each Yuri’s pale skin glow. It’s upsetting, that he didn’t think of that beforehand.

The bed is covered in towels. Other Otabek is laying naked and prone on the bed. His Yuri is straddling his hips. He too, is naked: all naked and half hard. Yuri grabs for a green glass bottle, yanks out the stopper, and pours oil down other Otabek’s back. Otabek knows that it’s the rosemary oil that mother distills from plants out in the garden. He knows just how it soothes the skin, and makes everything it touches tingle in the best kind of way.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” His Yuri laughs and rubs his half hard cock against other Otabek’s ass. He leans forward and grabs at other Otabek’s shoulder. He applies weight and pressure, and begins to knead at other Otabek’s back. “God damn you’re more tense than mine.”

“I told you,” other Otabek responds in a disinterested tone. “What I wanted.”

“Yeah, but,” other Yuri scrambles onto the bed, and starts rubbing at Otabek’s skin. “Who sits on your face? Who sits on your cock,” he teases. “You weren’t clear.”

“Why don’t you join us?” His Yuri asks. His voice has lost it’s usual edge, revealing that Yuri is concerned. Otabek moves slowly, and joins them on the bed. “Want him to suck your cock? He’s not doing anything,” Yuri gestures to Yuri.

Other Yuri scowls. “Look,” as loving as they are with one another, these little arguments crop up from time to time. “Look at me. I’m rubbing his arms!” Other Yuri speaks the truth.The expanse of other Otabek’s body is covered in oil. Yuri is on his back, and Yuri is on his arms. The whole room smells of rosemary.

“I just want to watch,” Otabek explains.

Otabek watches both Yuris work in tandem on other Otabek’s body. Otabek closes his eyes and listens to the low rumbling sound whenever they hit a particularly sore spot, and make other Otabek moan with that sweet mixture of pain and relief that comes from muscle knots coming undone beneath. Otabek watches both Yuri’s steal kisses from one another over other Otabek’s prone form.

“Yuri,” other Otabek turns over to his side, and pulls other Yuri into a kiss. It’s slow and it’s needy. Then, other Otabek turns to lie on his back. “Work him open.” Other Otabek locks eyes with him. “Unless you want to.”

Otabek repeats himself. Although he feels a knot growing in his throat, “I just want to watch.”

“Oh,” Other Yuri steals a kiss from him before grabbing the lube from the nightstand. “That means I get to sit on his face,” he beams.

Yuri crawls across the bed and kisses Yuri. Other Yuri cradles Yuri’s body with impossibly long spider like arms. “Sit up so he can see you babe,” he instructs Yuri, but never breaks eye contact with Otabek.

First, Yuri’s index finger disappears into Yuri’s hole. Then, his middle finger. Finally, his ring finger. Otabek indulges himself. He tugs at Yuri’s cock. He steals kisses from Yuri. He loosens his own pants, frees his cock, and palms himself with long strokes from root to tip. It rarely takes much effort to get hard when the four of them are together.

“Enjoying yourself?” His Yuri asks with a sly grin that suggests that his question is rhetorical.

“Yes,” Otabek whispers into his boyfriend’s ear. “You look so pretty together,” and then he adds, as an afterthought. “With him,” and Otabek is grateful that his words are in Russian so that only Yuri can understand.

“We can-ah-” Other Yuri adds another finger, and Otabek kisses him through the stretch and the burn. “Switch.”

“I want to watch,” Otabek repeats for the third time.

Then, they move just as other Yuri had predicted. His Yuri moves up and down other Otabek’s cock in quick little bouncing motions. Otabek is tempted to grab his hips and make him sit still. He knows all too well that the rapid movement hits him just right, and makes him come too soon.

Other Yuri mounts Otabek’s face without preamble or embarrassment, indicating that he did this often, and loved every second of it.

At this point, Otabek is used to the feeling of jealousy that creeps into him whenever he sees other Otabek with his Yuri. His counterpart will drape an arm around his Yuri, and Yuri always leans into the touch. He’s looked at the copper bangle that he gave to his Yuri, and he knows that it cannot hold a candle to any of the Cartier he’s given his partner over the year because the bangle was hand made.

He’s used to feeling envy too. He’s seen other Otabek sandwiched between two sleeping Yuri’s. He’s seen other Yuri lavish him with affection openly. Right now Otabek feels both emotions twist and pull at him, but for once neither the envy or the jealousy are directed at other Otabek.

Otabek watches Yuri bounce. He locks eyes with other Yuri while he rides other Otabek’s face. He’s jealous of Yuri. 

* * *

“We should get out of the house. Just the two of us. Go shopping or something,” other Yuri suggests.

“You’re just saying that because you saw my black AmEx in my wallet.” Yuri responds.

“Did you see how he was looking at him?” other Yuri fires back before cramming a pirozhky into his mouth.

“Those are for dinner asshole. Which we’re eating together. You know. The four of us.” Yuri glares daggers at other Yuri over the stockpot. He’s got a nice stew simmering, which is good because he doubts there’s a chance in hell the pirozhky are making it to the table.

“Am I wrong though? He’s doing that annoying self deprivation, “this is for the best,” kind of thing.”

“Hm,” Yuri mulls on the sentiment for a few moments. “We can go shopping tomorrow. Sure.”

* * *

\------------  
Otabek would be tempted to say that it happens slowly. Except, from the moment they wake up it’s made clear that Yuri and Yuri are sick and tired of the awkward back and forth that’s between them. He tells other Otabek as much. “We’re being set up.” Then, he shows him his phone. It’s a selfie of Yuri and Yuri outside an Armani Exchange, with the accompanying text, “going shopping.”

“They’re not worried about attracting attention?” Other Otabek’s voice is gruff as usual, but waivers slightly wit concern and the pull of anxiety.

“Yuri will probably tell people they’re twins.”

Other Otabek nods. “What should we do?”

With that single question, it feels as if a huge weight has been lifted off of Otabek’s shoulders. He’s willing to do this with Otabek, but he still feel that he needs just a little more time. “Yuri probably took a car so they could bring home all their shopping bags at once.”

“Hm,” other Otabek comments dryly.

“Both of the bikes are here.”

“Don’t we just need one?” Other Otabek responds.

“Hm,” Otabek agrees. It’s a simple question that reinforces their private kiss on their first night in Almaty. It implies that Otabek too is approaching the mutual desire between them, but is not yet ready to confront it.

“Show me Almaty.”

Otabek has been able to turn the engine over on the first attempt for years now. It’s like second nature to him now. With other Otabek here with him, he fumbles on the first attempt, and the second. On the third attempt, the engine finally roars to life.

Otabek expected his counterpart to hold onto him lightly by the shoulders, or try to hold onto the rear fender awkwardly. He does not. Instead, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and holds onto him firmly. Behind him is nothing but density and firmness muscle, and it is a feeling that he is unaccustomed to.

The ride from the house to the city is many, many miles, and gives other Otabek the chance to see the mountains which dot the skyline no matter where you seem to be in Almaty. Otabek takes the long way around Almaty tower, and then president’s park, and then Zenkof Cathedral. Otabek drives past his apartment in the city, stops, and lets the bike idle. “Where would you like to go next? There are a few museums. Nice architecture.”

“I’d like to go back to your apartment,” other Otabek responds. “The place Yuri and I ended up the first time.”

Otabek knows that his apartment is underwhelming. His mother, Farida, Yur,i and Yuri have told him as much. Yet and still, other Otabek looks over everything with great care and great interest. His fingers brush across his plants. He opens the cabinet, and there’s a ghost of a smile upon his face when he sees two plates, two glasses, one mug, and two bowls. He inspects Otabek’s bookshelf with great concern. “I have this one, and this one,” his fingers run across the spines of All Quiet on the Western Front and Catch-22. I have not read this one, and his fingers run over The Things they Carried. This surprises Otabek. It’s an American story, and this version of himself is well...an American.

“I didn’t really take the time to appreciate my surroundings last time,” other Otabek explains sheepishly. Other Otabek rocks nervously on the balls of his feet.

Otabek’s instinct is to repeat the motion, but seeing his counterpart do it makes him feel self-conscious. He stills himself, and can feel his face pull into a tight and awkward expression due to the misplaced energy. “I have a good view of the city here.” Otabek turns towards the sliding glass door, pulls back the curtain, and throws the sliding glass door open.

Other Otabek approaches the railing of the balcony. He rests his arms against the cold black wrought iron. Otaek expects him to light up a cigarette, but he does not. Otabek takes in the skyline with tense and questioning eyes. Here, mountains melt into skyscrapers, and pull back into mountains once more. “You didn’t have us here.” It’s a statement, not a question from other Otabek.

“I thought you’d like the other place more.”

“You thought Yuri would like the other place more.”

“Hm,” Otabek joins the other version of himself at the railing. Their shoulders brush together, and neither of them move away from the touch.

“I like it better here.”

Other Otabek’s breath is hot against his mouth. He tastes like smoke, although Otabek hasn’t seen him use tobacco today. Other Otabek’s hands hover awkwardly near his own body, and Otabek closes the distance between them by wrapping his arms around the middle and closing the distance between their bodies. Their kiss is neither bruising or demanding. It’s soft, and asks a thousand little questions with each movement of their lips and their tongues.

“Me too,” Otabek confesses when they finally part.

For Otabek, it is not difficult to allow his counterpart to pin him against the balcony railing. It is not difficult to let him press his teeth into his neck. It is undeniably easy to work his arms into the folds of other Otabek’s unzipped jacket and touch other Otabek over his t-shirt. It is easy, because he is unafraid to fall into this role with Yuri. It is easy, because he knows wholly and completely that he wants this. He can only hope that other Otabek finds it easy too for the exact same reasons.

Other Otabek’s actions become bolder as they move forward. When he kisses him, they ask fewer questions and demand answers. Other Otabek alternates between kneading his ass palming his cock through his jeans. Otabek tries to repay these affections with similar actions, a hand jammed down the back of his partner’s pants or a quick pinch of the nipple.

Other Otabek rebuffs these actions, and instead wedges his knee between Otabek’s legs. The sensation is nothing but pressure and friction, and yet it is so far away from what Otabek actually needs. “Bed?” Otabek tries to keep his voice firm, but his voice is shaky. As if on cue other Otabek has unbuttoned his jeans, and has worked his hands down his underwear.

“What’s wrong with this?” Other Otabek says in his ear. His voice is just above a whisper, and just below his normal speaking voice. The soft timber of the sound makes him shudder.

Now it is Otabek’s turn to be the strong iron hand in a velvet glove. He switches their positions and presses other Otabek against the railing. “It’s cold.” Otabek slips his hand up underneath other Otabek’s shirt. Other Otabek shudders, and he can only assume that it’s due to a combination of electric fire of skin against skin, and icy fingertips that have been out in the spring air for too long. “Can’t get naked.”

“Hmmm,” other Otabek considers this for a moment, and then pulls the sliding glass door back open.

Otabek shucks his jacket as soon as they cross the threshold back into the apartment. Otabek turns to lock the door. The click of the lock is accompanied by the metallic twang chink of his belt buckle being undone. Otabek turns, to find his counterpart shirtless.

Otabek arches a single eyebrow. He should’ve expected this style of too-much-too soon. He’s seen him use it on both Yuris with great success.

“Lose the clothes Altin,” other Otabek orders. There’s not a hint of wavering or unease in his voice.

Otabek peels off his shirt. “I’ll match you,” and then steps into the other man’s space. He expected strong calloused hands roaming over his body. Instead, he’s met with a firm hand slipping back between the waistband of his pants and his underwear, and a dulled pop of the button of his jeans being undone.

Otabek feels as if he’s seeing his own body truly for the first time. He’s always known that he’s had a whorl of hair in between his belly button which lead down to his pubic hair. He’s always known that he is a tense person. He feels the tension in his shoulders when he’s confused by the intricacies of social discourse. He’s aware of it when he sees himself in press photos. He’s always known that his cock was quite thick. Yuri told him that often. In this moment he sees these things a new. He feels these things anew when he runs his hands over other Otabek’s chest, splays his hands across the tense muscles of his back, and drags his cock against his.

They don’t make it to the bed. Otabek wonders, as other Otabek steps out of his own jeans, if they ever had a chance. Other Otabek pushes them down onto the couch. He places a rough hand on Otabek’s cock and pulls him in for a kiss, but the movements come halfway and with a hitch, as if every ounce of confidence he knows is gone.

Otabek knows the feeling all too well. There’s nothing more that he can do other than try to assuage his counterpart’s anxiety through pushing forward. He’s always responded well to that. Otabek readjusts the firm hand around his cock so that other Otabek is taking both of them at once. The drag of satiny skin against satiny skin makes them both hiss through their teeth and screw their eyes shut.

“There’s lube in the end table,” but Otabek dare not open his eyes. Other Otabek’s movements are still too light and too cautious. It brings him to full arousal and makes him keen for more attention, but makes him painfully aware of how tenuous the current interaction is.

“Show me how you do it.” other Otabek instructs. Otabek opens his eyes, only to be met with his own intense gaze. In that moment, he understands everything that Yuri has ever said about not liking to be stared at. It is neither accusatory, nor insidious, but Otabek feels as if he’s made a huge misstep.

For a moment, he wants to ask, “why?” He knows that he must do this for his Yuri all the time. He’s seen him do it for his Yuri. Then, like a routine mid season, everything falls into place. Other Otabek knows what to do, he wants to see himself do it. It seems as if every action is a test. If Otabek can do it, then other Otabek won’t find the idea so foreign.

Other Otabek squeezes too much lube onto his fingers. Other Otabek sits on his knees and supports his weight against the back rest while facing the wall. His fingers tremble while he does it, which seems stupid. He’s done this to Yuri and himself more times than he can count.

Other Otabek senses this in him. He places scorching ember kisses onto his neck and his shoulder, “relax.”

Otabek wants to explain that it’s not so simple. He has command of his body, but there’s so much rigidity between the two of them, it seems difficult to fully accept what he’s about to do. Otabek manages to press in a finger. His skin burns at the intrusion, and the pressure isn’t pleasurable.

There are more touches from other Otabek. They are far more effective than any roughly mumbled coaxing. More kisses: his mouth, his neck, each individual nodule on his spine, his tailbone just above where his own finger is hooked inside. Other Otabek’s hand returns to his cock as well. He’s more generous with long strokes of his hand alternating between fast and slow and fast again. He pushes Otabek to the very precipice, holds him there, and forces his desire back down. So much so that Otabek is able to work another finger inside.

Then, the sofa bends and springs back from jostled weight. Other Otabek kneels before him, spreads his cheeks, and the hot burning sensation of relentless scrutiny returns. He can feel it on his back, and at the base of his neck, and where he’s pushed fingers inside.

“Seriously?” because it’s not going to help him feel more relaxed.

“Please.” Where before other Otabek’s voice was firm, and pushed all of them: Yuri, Yuri, and Otabek to their very limits, the syllables he utters against his skin is uncertain and laid bare.

Otabek swallows the lump at the base of his throat, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly. “Okay.”

Other Otabek’s technique is nothing but masterful. He traces Otabek’s rim with a lube slicked finger, then works his fingers past Otabek’s so that he’s massaging his perineum. He fluctuates between soft and barely there touches and deeper manipulations of the skin until Otabek finally does feel relaxed and he’s no longer going through the motions to simply please a partner. It makes him regret that it is his own fingers buried inside of himself, and not other Otabek’s.

“Otabek, I-” his own name tumbles out of his mouth easily.

“Another?”

“Yes,” Otabek chokes out in a garbled whimper. Other Otabek is already working another finger inside. They work their fingers in together, scissoring wide. In no time at all, Otabek accepts the intrusion. “I’m ready.”

“Take a finger out.”

Otabek complies, and immediately it’s replaced by other Otabek’s finger.

“Another.”

And the motion is repeated until Otabek’s working him over the exact same way that he touched his cock. He’s filled up and wrung out over and over again without the satisfaction of an orgasm. Finally, other Otabek withdrawals all of his fingers. Then, he sits on the couch, and motions for other Otabek to sit in his lap.

Does Yuri feel this way when he enters him? He feels stretched so wide, and filled so completely. The burning sensation returns, but it’s laced with pleasure

“What are you thinking about?” With one hand other Otabek traces circles on his hip with the pad of his thumb. With the other, he tilts his chin so that they’re looking at one another. Otabek’s chest rises and falls with his.

“If Yuri feels like this.”

“Good?”

Otabek has finally worked passed the feeling that the wind had been knocked out of his chest. Now, the familiar warm sensation, the feeling of being caressed from inside takes over. Otabek tests the water with an experimental roll of his hips.

An unbridled groan is torn from deep within other Otabek. In that moment, every shred of uncertainty and soft velvet touch tipped panic between them evaporates. The only thing that is left is lust and need and a raw mutual desire that has been too repressed for too long.

“Really good.” Otabek flashes him the same kind of dangerous half grin that gets Yuri panting every time. He doubts it will have the same effect on himself, but it’s the best that he’s got.

He’s met with an almost identical grin. Other Otabek’s mouth is pulled into a full smirk. His eyes glint with a silent and smug satisfaction. The expression is maddening, but the only way that Otabek can respond is to continue to grind down on other Otabek’s cock. He wonders, does Yuri feel this addictive mixture of frustration and desire when Otabek teases him relentlessly?

Despite all the difficulty getting prepared, they fall into a rhythm easily. Other Otabek thrusts upward just in time for him to grind downward. He kisses other Otabek. Doesn’t stop kissing him. Instead, he simply drowns in the sensation of the cock inside of him, the firm hand on his cock, and the mingled sounds of groans and the fleshy slap of skin between them.

Other Otabek forces his hips down the same time that he grinds upward. Although Otabek is on top, he rapidly feels as if he’s lost all control of the situation. Other Otabek hits him just right every single time. With each thrust, Otabek stifles a moan into the back of his hand or onto Otabek’s collarbone.

Otabek kisses him again. “Touch yourself.” His voice is steady, but Otabek knows his own signs of orgasm: uneven thrusts, frantic touches, more talking.

Otabek complies by wrapping a hand around his own cock. “Come inside of me.” Other Otabek moans at the request. “Please.”

Other Otabek grants his request. He grinds up into Otabek, and shoots deep within him. He keeps fucking him, until he’s spilling into his hand and onto other Otabek’s stomach.

Other Otabek helps him clean up. Otabek makes them tea, and together they lay in bed. Other Otabek whispers softly into his skin when he’s almost asleep, “ thank you.”

 

* * *

Otabek wakes up to the sound of someone unlocking the door, and a disappointed voice saying, “It smells like sex in here. We missed it.”

And the retort, “of course we fucking missed it. That was the whole point.”

Then, there are identical crowns of gold hair filing into the room. His Yuri climbs into bed next to him, while other Yuri tends to other Otabek.

“Have fun?” Yuri purrs into his ear.

“Very much so,” Otabek responds sheepishly.

“Can we fucking talk about this?” Other Yuri barks over his Yuri’s shockingly subdued questions.

“We need to,” Yuri agrees.

“Hm,” other Otabek grunts in response.

“Um,” Otabek feels pressure in his chest. It makes him feel the same way that he felt when he told other Yuri he loved him. An equal combination of wrong and right which created a heavy brick like feeling in his chest. “I guess so.”

“We all fucking agree this isn’t about fucking anymore right?” Other Yuri asks. “Right?” he leans into his and Yuri’s space when no one responds and the tension hangs thick in the air. “Mr. I fucking love you.”

“Right,” he and Yuri agree immediately.

“Right?” Other Yuri pokes at other Otabek’s bare chest, “Mr. learns three words of Russian to impress him,” he gestures to Yuri.

“Right,” other Otabek confesses.

“We’re in love with each other, “ Yuri admits. “All of us.” Yuri tries to pump that distinctive gravel like tone back into his voice. He does it whenever he’s scared.

Love? Otabek is certainly in love with other Yuri. He makes his breath catch in his throat and his heart pound in his chest. Is he in love with other Otabek? He is unsure.

“That’s right,” other Yuri agrees. “Stop overthinking it,” he taps on Otabek’s temple. “That goes double for you.” He repeats the gesture to other Otabek.

“So you think we should just be in love with each other? All of us?” Yuri asks.

“Yeah,” Other Yuri responds.

“Okay,” Yuri agrees.

“Okay,” other Otabek agrees.

Otabek feels the weight of three pairs of eyes upon him. It’s far more complicated than other Yuri’s simple explanation, but the conclusion he’s reached seems to be the best that any of them could ever hope for. He and Yuri were irrevocably changed as a couple the day that Yuri appeared in their bedroom. There was no going back. Otabek knows that if they could, he wouldn’t want to.

“Okay,” Otabek says finally.

“So next time you’re coming to see us,” other Yuri chirps happily.

Otabek can feel the blood drain from his face.

“I told you he’d freak out!” Yuri responds.

“Mine doesn’t look happy either. Why Beka?” Other Yuri points at other Otabek.

Other Otabek interjects,” Yuri, you know that it’s different for us. Where are they going to stay. What are they going to do? We can’t get nice clothes, and food, and ride a Ducati.”

“Yuri says,” his Yuri pipes up. “That you know of some nicer places. Outback Steakhouse?”

Otabek can remember a very unfortunate dinner with his host family when he was in America. The warm and mutual loving feeling he’d felt moments ago was gone. Instead, it’s replaced by a queasy feeling in his stomach.

“Something about lobster?” His Yuri continues.

“Red Lobster, babe,” other Yuri interjects. “You seem like you’d really like Shrimpfest maybe,” he gestures to other Otabek. “Doesn’t he look like he’d like Shrimpfest?”


End file.
